


What Happens in Vegas Came by Way of Ohio

by thisiswhyishouldntwritefanfic



Series: Relative Innocence [4]
Category: Heathers (1988)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Case Fic, F/M, Flashbacks, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-02-20 00:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 85,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13135356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisiswhyishouldntwritefanfic/pseuds/thisiswhyishouldntwritefanfic
Summary: Veronica's retreat to her hometown to rebuild her life is interrupted when the past draws her and the heirs of Bud Dean into a dangerous web of lies and criminals, including some that have reason to want revenge against his son.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have got to stop thinking I can do stories as one shots. I apparently can't, but I'm so intimidated by new long projects and the fear I won't finish them that I shouldn't even start anything these days as I mostly don't finish things.
> 
> Still, I tried to do a piece that wasn't quite a sequel and wasn't quite not a sequel, and then when I decided I was going to continue it, I didn't actually want to pick up _after_ that attempted one shot but _before_ it, because I'm apparently contrary and silly, and this is what happened.

* * *

_Gamblers are trouble. Never forget that._

He knew that lesson. He'd learned it well, and he'd learned it again, painfully, when he was older and should have known better. Gamblers were always going to be a problem. They were addicts, and he knew addicts well. The trouble with a gambler's addiction was that it wasn't the same, not as personal and inward when it became destructive, as addiction inevitably did. He had watched addicts destroy their own bodies and felt less anger than he did watching a gambler throw away his family's means of living on yet another bet.

People might consider that screwed up, but he was screwed up, and he didn't deny that to himself. Maybe years ago, he'd tried, thinking he could cover over the defects in his mind and his morality by believing himself sane, the only sane person left in an insane world, but these days he was not so easily fooled.

Very few people fooled him at all, not even for a second.

Like the man at the end of the counter, dressed like a seemingly stereotypical truck driver, with the ball cap, the checkered shirt, and the jeans just a bit too small and showing too much around the waist. He was making crude jokes with the others around him at the diner's bar, but every bit of his outfit was deliberate, as though he somehow thought no one would peg him for an undercover cop if he showed a bit of crack.

Or his waitress. Faking a smile, chatting up everyone like she enjoyed being sociable, like she had no cares at all, and she would pass by each group, talking like she enjoyed it all. Only he could tell she was in it for the tips and hated every second of this job, her uniform, and the smell of the food. The only thing she hated more were her customers.

JD declined a refill and eyed the ashtray again, remembering those days of chain smoking with a bit of nostalgia, as though they were somehow better than this. He knew it wasn't. Those days were full of pain and fear, of self-delusion and manipulation by others.

These days he had a clear head, if not a sane one, and he knew what he was doing. No one manipulated him but him. He chose his path, and he did it for his own reasons, no one else's.

That was why he was in Reno, not Vegas, where his former assistant was living, faced with the unpleasant task of keeping her mother sober.

Or Ohio, where the one woman with the singular ability to wreck his life was rebuilding hers.

Why Reno?

It had seemed as good a place as any. Going to Reno was synonymous at least once before with divorce, and he could consider his current limbo a sort of slow divorce from what he had been doing, something that should be allowing him to move forward into a new part of his life.

He was effectively dead again, and it was time to decide what to do with his life.

And that brought him back to the gamblers.

And trouble.

* * *

“How is that even remotely entertaining for you?” Enid asked, frowning yet again at her mother's choice of entertainment. “You live in Vegas. The movie has Vegas all wrong. You hate movies like that. Why even bother turning it on?”

Her mother didn't even look up at her, and Enid sighed. She couldn't watch that again, and she knew if she went out, her mother would find money hidden somewhere—Enid was starting to suspect it was somewhere on her body that no daughter ever wanted to think about—and use it at the closest liquor store.

Even though she'd offered the jerks there a nice bonus if they refused to sell to her mother again.

Assholes. Seriously, her money would still have been more than the bottle her mother bought now and then, and they should just have taken the money. It really irritated her that they wouldn't.

She considered using their computers to make their lives miserable. A quick hack could ruin their credit card machine without compromising customer data. She could adjust their coolers so all of their chilled product would overheat. She liked that, too, damaging the merchandise. She could wreck so much havoc in their lives, and yet she'd tried to be diplomatic about things, to be nice.

Nice was done. Next time those bastards sold to her mother, she was making sure at least one bottle exploded when she rigged their computerized cooling units. Oh, yes, she was.

“You're thinking about him again, aren't you?”

“What?”

“That look on your face. You get it when you're thinking about your father. It's an evil look, Enid. You need to let it go. He's dead. He can't hurt anyone.”

“Yeah? So why are you drunk again?” Enid demanded, shaking her head as she went back into her bedroom. She should have listened to Jay when he said just to check her mom into a facility. They could deal with this kind of crap. She was at her wit's end, and something was going to give if she didn't find a way out of this soon.

She picked up her tablet. Maybe it was time to send Veronica some suggestions for the bridesmaids' dresses. Her reaction to the last ones had been perfect, as had those of her friends, all of whom were questioning Enid's taste and sanity to a degree that had her cackling with delight.

Enid pulled up a few that would make Veronica's wedding seem like an eighties throwback, complete with linebacker shoulder pads and sent off the links, waiting for the fallout to come.

And then she checked her email again. She already knew she didn't have any texts, but she didn't figure on him using texts or calls. He wouldn't leave her a number; he'd told her that.

Nothing from Jay. Again.

It had been almost two weeks now.

Enid would say she wasn't worried, but judging by how she'd managed to squeeze the stuffing out of her quaggan, she knew that was a lie.

* * *

“Aren't you going to answer that?” Heather McNamara asked, sipping from her iced coffee as she scrolled through pictures on her tablet. She seemed to think Veronica needed to see every detail of her kids' lives that she'd missed, and while Veronica understood her pride as a mother, she hated every minute of it.

Veronica clearly wasn't mother material, for one thing, but she also couldn't help thinking of another Heather who never got a chance to decide if she wanted to be a mother and what another mother had twisted her son into.

If Veronica lifted her sleeve, she'd see the marks left there by that same son, but she wasn't about to look at them again. They'd fade into scars soon enough, but they were still angry welts and she hated seeing them, going around covered most of the time even though it was hardly the weather for long sleeves and high necks.

“No, I'm not going to answer it,” Veronica said, not looking at her phone. “Enid really isn't helping with this whole wedding nonsense.”

“Are you still mad at him for not getting you the ring properly sized?”

Veronica winced. That story, told as a part of the vicious cover Enid had concocted naming her brother as Veronica's fiancé refused to die, and any time she expressed frustration with it, her friends assumed it was because her fiancé had gotten her ring sized wrong—more than once—and not because there was no wedding, she hadn't been asked again, hadn't really even dated since her divorce, and the man she was supposedly marrying was legally dead. All her friends thought he was.

Up until a month ago, Veronica had thought he was, too, until he'd broken into her apartment to tell her he hadn't killed anyone. She still found that hard to believe, her mind wanting to go back to its patterns of doubts and guilt, to believe him nothing more than a figment of her overtired mind, the same one someone else was deliberately trying to drive over the edge.

She shivered.

“Does thinking about getting married again bring up... him?” Heather asked, wincing. “I mean, that guy thought he owned you, right? So I guess marrying anyone would be scary and frightening after something like that.”

“It's not—”

“You can admit to being scared,” Heather said, reaching over to put her hand on Veronica's. “I know I would have been. And you know Heather was. She was terrified when she heard her daughter was a target. She only pretends she's calm, but as soon as she's not talking about someone from her business, she goes back to it, and she's not okay until she texts Helena and hears back again.”

Veronica nodded. She had seen Heather Duke doing that over and over again, her fear visible on her face until she got the reply from her daughter. Helena Duke had been slated to die that night, but the killer had taken Veronica instead, almost killing Enid in the process.

Maybe he would have done her a favor.

Her phone buzzed again, and Veronica sighed, intending to tell Enid off and get her to stop for maybe an hour this time, but after two hideous pictures of dresses, there was just one line of text.

_Have you heard anything yet?_

_No,_ Veronica texted back. _And no more dresses._

_He should have said something by now._

_Knowing your brother, he's delaying to piss you off,_ Veronica typed back with more confidence than she felt. Truth was, without JD to look at or talk to, she found herself doubting if he was real. Enid might not even seem real if not for the constant texts and annoying links. Years of lies and guilt and emotional abuse from a stalker had Veronica distrusting her own mind, and while she was trying to get over that, getting back in touch with old friends and her roots—and God help her, her mother—she was still a mess.

_You better be right about that._

Veronica guiltily lowered the phone. She didn't think she was, but she wasn't about to tell Enid that now. Or ever, really.

“Something wrong?”

“Same as it was before,” Veronica answered. She drew in a breath and let it out. “Now, where were we? Something about a soccer practice when they were six?”

Heather smiled. “That's right. Veronica, if you don't mind me asking—”

“I kind of do, actually,” Veronica said, having no desire to discuss why she remained childless with people that still didn't know about her part in the Westerburg suicides. “Please, don't ask. I don't mind you telling me all about yours, and I am so glad you're happy, but when it comes to discussing my kids or lack thereof... No.”

Heather nodded. “You know that Heather Duke has a theory about that.”

“Oh?”

“Well, the first time she heard you were getting married again, she figured the only reason was you being pregnant.”

“Seriously? This isn't high school, and I don't need a man to take care of me, and even if I did, I wouldn't have to marry him and only a fool would marry—”

“I knew it was for love.”

Veronica bit back a sigh, refusing to bang her head against the table, though she swore she was going to kill Enid before this was all over.

* * *

He sat down with his back to the counter, eyes on the undercover cop.

“The men you're looking for are over in the gift shop, reading off the bumper stickers to each other,” he told him. He'd spotted them as soon as they came in the door, noting the way they dressed, moved, and their chosen source of entertainment.

“Excuse me?”

“And their customer has been sitting behind me in that booth for the last hour. He keeps shifting against the vinyl, and the sounds that makes were amusing in high school, maybe, but these days they remind me of dead football players without brains, and while I figure you really want the man behind Flotsam and Jetsam in there, their respective IQ suggests they don't know enough to even lead you back to him, so I'm not sure why you're bothering to wait on them. If it were me, I'd grab Fidget over there and get him to tell you how he knows about them because he's too clean cut for this place and yet badly in need of a fix.”

“Look, I don't know who you think you are—”

“And the attention to detail on your end is admirable, but no one wants to see that, okay?” JD said, patting him on the back before rising.

He'd considered speeding the whole thing up by pointing out Fidget to Flotsam and Jetsam, but then that cop would think he was involved in it, and he wasn't.

The cop caught his arm. “Who the hell are you?”

“Good question. I have no idea.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JD remembers a few things. Veronica tries to cope with an ordinary life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found myself intimidated by updating my other story, so I worked on this instead, even thought I kept telling myself no new things for now and that it was a bad idea to start before the other part, but I am apparently not good at being practical when I should be.

* * *

_“You know what I love about Vegas?” Bud asked, and JD shook his head. He didn't think there was anything to like about this place. He hadn't gotten to see much of it, not this time, though the first time through, with his mother, he'd seen more. He hadn't liked it much then, since it came right before the trip to Texas and that damned library._

 _His mother was dead, and Vegas reminding him of that was reason enough to hate it, but Bud liked it here, got almost sick giddy with excitement when he heard he could do a job in Vegas again. That was the kind of look that actually scared JD, as much as he thought nothing could scare him anymore. His father had hurt him enough that he shouldn't care anymore._

_He thought that death would almost be better. His mother must have. She was gone._

_His father wanted him dead, though, and JD didn't want to give him that. He didn't want that man to have anything he wanted. JD didn't get much of a chance to defy him, but this was one of them, and he wouldn't give in, even if he wanted to more often than he didn't._

_“Jason,” Bud said, his words a warning. JD forced himself to look back at his father, knowing if he didn't, it would hurt. “Come away from the window.”_

_JD swallowed, forcing himself to step back. He didn't understand why they hadn't rented a house this time, but he didn't want to ask. He knew better. He knew talking only got him in trouble, and asking questions only hurt more. Not that there was any real way of stopping the pain. His father would do as he pleased, and what pleased him was watching JD suffer. Still, he only won if JD killed himself, and JD wouldn't do that._

_“The thing about Vegas,” Bud went on, putting his hands on JD's shoulder and lowering his head next to his ear. “Is that it proves that everything is for sale. The stars, the shows, the shops, the women... Everything here has a price, and every fool thinks he can win enough for them all.”_

_“You're going to gamble, aren't you?”_

_“What, Jason? Does that upset you?” Bud asked, touching his cheek. “Like your mother, you going to lecture me about the evils of gambling? Sometimes you are so like her. Her looks. Her spirit. So very like her...”_

_JD shuddered. He hated when his father did this, talked about how much he was like his mom. Bud was probably trying to talk him into doing what she did, killing herself. Or he was saying something else, something so sick JD refused to think about it._

_“Don't you have a building to blow up?” JD asked, and his father moved his hand around under JD's neck, starting to squeeze._

_“I have work to do,” Bud said, “But then Vegas is about pleasure, and I am going to enjoy myself while I'm here. I'm going to enjoy so much here...”_

* * *

He jerked awake, rolling over and retching. He swore he hadn't done that in years.

He should never have gone to Reno. Too many casinos. He had never really liked them, but they always reminded him of Big Bud. He'd tried hard to forget all of that, but he couldn't. He never should have gone back to Vegas after that hellish time with his father, but he had, and that only made it worse.

He'd thought about going down to set up something, to have a place ready for himself, a new business to surprise Enid with, but he hadn't taken the road to Vegas. He hadn't been able to. He almost hadn't made it into Nevada at all, and then when he did, where did he go?

Reno.

He still didn't understand why. It wasn't like there wasn't plenty of gambling here, though there were no memories from Bud or anyone else, as this was JD's first actual visit to Reno. They'd driven past once, he thought, but he wasn't sure, and if they'd stayed, it hadn't even been long enough for a real meal, just a drive-thru.

Bud hadn't let him out of the car on a drive since his mother died, so he knew he'd never actually set foot in a building in Reno before now. He'd avoided anywhere with ties to the past—anywhere Bud had worked and dragged him to, anywhere Veronica might have been for a case, anywhere people from Westerburg or other schools had settled. It wasn't hard to do, not when he only had to avoid a handful of people that might actually have remembered him.

He winced. Seeing George again that once was more than enough. His father had made sure George suffered for the crime of being JD's friend, and he still limped today.

Everyone was better off without JD in their lives.

Even Enid, who thought she knew better and wanted to keep him around.

She was in Vegas, but he couldn't go to Vegas. Not now. Not ever.

_“Welcome to Vegas, Mr. Dedman,” the man said with a smile that would fool ninety percent of the population. “It's going to be a pleasure doing business with you.”_

_JD forced a smile in return. It wouldn't be, but then he'd been hired to make assholes like this one pay, and he was going to make sure it happened, one way or another._

Rolling over, he lost his stomach again, groaning. He wasn't going to remember that, either. He was not in Vegas. He was in Reno, and he was not going to think about any visits to Vegas. Enid was on her own with her mother. He wanted no part of that, and he was not going to get involved.

He'd find somewhere else to work, if he could even figure out what the hell he wanted to do now. He knew it was too soon for a psychic act like the one he'd had as Judas Dean. He couldn't use the robes, and he'd already given up most of the rest of props, left behind in a carefully managed storage unit, along with a few other things he needed to keep out of the public eye for a bit.

He had to transfer the title to his car to a different identity and get it repainted. He didn't mind that so much—he hadn't been a fan of the last color—but he would miss the car until it was all done and safe to drive again.

And since the FBI knew about it—at least, Veronica did—he might be better off just selling it and picking a new one.

Maybe he should go over to that automobile museum, get a sense of what he might want.

If his stomach ever settled, he just might.

* * *

Enid woke in the dark, fumbling for the phone. She could hear the dumb thing buzzing off the table by her bed, and she grabbed it just as it stopped ringing. She groaned, sitting up and checking the screen.

Unknown number.

At three in the morning? No. She did not get unknown numbers at three in the morning, and when she did, someone had to pay.

Unless said someone was her wayward half-brother, in which case he might get a pass, but only because she was really starting to worry about him. Not minor worries, like full on panic attack type things because every time she thought about him and didn't hear anything, that unsettled feeling in her stomach got worse and worse.

She knew something was wrong with Jay. It wasn't just that having Veronica reenter his life meant shutting down his business and completely uprooting himself and everything he'd hidden under all his shell company layers—though he had, and faster than she would have thought because she'd attempted to trace that but all the old ones were gone, his properties were sold off, and nothing belonged to him or any of the aliases she'd known for him before that case.

A part of her was proud, since it took a lot for someone to duck under her radar, but the rest of her was pissed because this was her brother and while she didn't want to worry about him, she did. Jay was the only family she had besides her drunk mother in the other room, and even if they weren't related by blood, she had found a kinship with him she'd never really had with anyone before. He was a jackass half the time, a real jerk, but they had similar senses of humor and did good work together. She helped people, and she liked it.

She checked her phone again. Unknown number. She could try and hack her phone company's records, see if she could find out what that number actually was, but she wouldn't be surprised if it came back to an already dead burner phone.

Jay had plenty of those. She knew he did.

And for someone who didn't like to use technology, he knew how to avoid someone like her online and just about everywhere else.

That was the trouble with both of them, really. They were too smart for their own good. She was a brilliant hacker, she no longer tried to deny that, and he was the best at reading people and understanding the way their minds worked.

She would miss working with him, and she had no interest in picking up any kind of normal nine-to-five job now. He'd ruined her for that completely.

Jay had to come back. He just had to.

Enid didn't think she was going to be able to get him here on her own, though. Maybe if she could find him a case, she could lure him down—but to do that, she'd have to talk to him, and he wasn't talking to anyone that she could tell.

She understood him keeping his distance from Veronica. Enid agreed with that, more or less, though she was tempted to send more wedding stuff to her, right now, even if it was in the middle of the night.

No, no, she wasn't that evil.

Not yet.

* * *

“Veronica?”

She looked up with a smile. “Morning, Betty. I hope I didn't wake you.”

“Not at all,” Betty said, smiling. She ran a hand through her hair as she made her way over to the counter for the coffee pot. “Remember, I told you to make yourself at home. We're all very informal around here.”

Veronica nodded. “I know. I just... I feel bad enough I barged in on you like this, and I would hate to make it worse by being a rude houseguest.”

Betty laughed, taking a sip from her coffee cup. “You're not rude, and you didn't barge in. We were having a perfectly reasonable conversation, you admitted your mother was driving you crazy, and I said you could take a break here with me. The house feels a bit empty these days.”

Veronica nodded. She really didn't know that her presence helped much, not with Betty's current situation. “Do you think... Is it going to be official soon?”

Betty twisted her lip. “Honestly, I hope not, but then I suppose I'm just a fool. He did move out, and he's got his own place with enough room for the kids, too... but I don't know. I guess I still love him, and that's the problem.”

Veronica grimaced. It had been easy enough for her to end her marriage, since she and Hanson had barely spent an hour in the same room together by the end, and when she thought about it, she wasn't sure either of them had ever been in love with the other. Betty, though, she'd been over the moon for her husband, and up until a few weeks ago, Veronica thought that her husband was that way for her, but apparently stress at work and a lot of traveling had led to some arguments about moving and with Betty unwilling to uproot them... her husband did it for everyone.

Still, as far as Veronica knew, no one had cheated on anyone, so there was still some hope there, if they could compromise about the moving thing.

“What is your plan for today?”

Veronica shrugged. “I did coffee with Heather McNamara yesterday. I have no intention of seeing my mother for at least another day, and I'd rather not talk to Heather Duke as she's still trying to plan this wedding that's not going to happen—”

“Did you break up with your fiancé?”

Veronica winced. She really needed to come up with a good story there. “It's... it's complicated. You know what we should do? Something to take both our minds off men and put them on something much more important. Like... shoes.”

Betty laughed. “Shoes?”

“What can I say? It's been a long time since I went shopping for something that wasn't completely practical. I think that the last ten times I was at a store, it was all for groceries,” Veronica said, aware that she couldn't even remember when the last time she'd been for groceries was. “Then again, maybe what I need is something normal.”

“You have been through a lot,” Betty agreed. “I'll go put my contacts in and get dressed. Do you want to call Martha, see if she wants to join us? I know shopping's not her thing, but we can do something else, too, if she'd rather.”

“I'll send her a text,” Veronica said, almost hoping that Martha would say no. Now that she thought about it, she didn't want to go shopping.

She didn't want a normal life.

She couldn't go back to the FBI, but she wanted something more than this.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JD remembers and comes dangerously close to self-destructing.

* * *

_  
“And you said your husband disappeared how long ago?” he asked, shifting in his chair. The old private detective routine had seemed appealing after one too many nights without sleep in a cheap hotel room with nothing to watch but the old movies that came on late at night, but now he was starting to regret it._

_The hell was he thinking? He couldn't do this, and he should know that. He was a killer, not a detective, and even if he'd sobered up and left all that behind. His father was dead, and he was free. He didn't need to be in this mess. He didn't need to be anywhere._

_Okay, so he hadn't had much success in tracking down where he'd put Bud's money—most of that time after his attempt to bomb Westerburg was still a blur, one full of holes and pain in the few semi-coherent moments he had._

_He needed money. He'd figured this was as good as any way to get it until he could figure out what the hell he did with Bud's. He hoped it was at least earning interest wherever it was, but he didn't have any idea where that was or even if the money still existed. His father seemed convinced he'd taken it, and he knew he wanted to, but he couldn't be sure he had._

_“It's been almost two weeks now,” the woman said, dabbing at her eyes with a Kleenex and bringing him back to the present. “I know something happened. He was so worried before he disappeared. I think it was about his business. He got into this deal he thought was great, but the more he dealt with them, the more worried he got.”_

_“And you told this to the police?”_

_She nodded. “I did. They looked into it, but they told me nothing was wrong with the deal and his partners all had alibis.”_

_JD almost snorted. How many times had people failed to find proof that his father was guilty of something? He'd blown up a damned sacred tree and they'd done nothing when it had to have been him. “You think the police are looking in the wrong spot?”_

_“I know they are. They'll never find him if his partners killed him.”_

_He leaned back in the chair. “So what do you expect me to do? Make a body appear from thin air? I'm not a magician. I thought about it once. Figured I'd be good at slight of hand. Never could get it working, though.”_

_Mrs. Walker smiled at him. “You're a charmer, you are.”_

_“Compliments are nice, but I want to know what you realistically expect here.”_

_“I want to hire someone to find my husband, dead or alive. I want to know what happened to him,” she said. “They still need my husband's money to go forward—or the money he would be putting into it if things weren't tied up in court now. They'll be looking for people to invest again, and I can put you in touch with the man who contacted my husband.”_

_“I thought your money was all tied up.”_

_“My husband's money is. Not mine. And I'll pay whatever it takes to find out what happened to my husband, Mr. Dedman.” Walker looked at him with fiery determination in her eyes. “I need someone who can charm people as well as they can. Someone young enough they think they can manipulate. Someone who has no official ties to the police. Someone who will do what I tell him to do.”_

_“I never said I'd kill anyone for you.”_

_“I never said I was asking you to,” she said with a smile. “Now, Mr. Dedman, kindly name your price.”_

* * *

He'd have asked for double—no, triple—if he'd known it meant Vegas.

He should never have taken that job, even if he needed the money at the time. He'd made mistakes, many of them, over the years, but getting involved with Walker's widow remained one of the worst decisions he'd ever made, and considering that he had the blood of three teenagers on his hands, that said something.

Then again, others would say it was because his conscience didn't point straight north and he didn't feel the remorse he should for those deaths. Then again, the carnage in Vegas was different.

He rose, going over to the cupboard and pulling out a bottle. He filled a glass and drank from it, the alcohol burning down his throat as he did. He shouldn't, he knew what they said about alcohol and how bad it was for an addict, but he had never really confused this stuff with the heavy duty opiates his father had hooked him on. No, he knew, intellectually, they had the same properties, but he'd always been able to stop himself a few glasses in, so he'd never really seen it in the same way, even if he knew it was.

He shook that off, pouring himself a second glass, carrying it with him as he walked to the window. He preferred to stay in places where he had more than one exit, more than two if at all possible. He'd been trapped too many times in his life to feel comfortable without several exit strategies.

He looked down at Reno, thinking once again that he should not have come here. He should leave before he got worse, before the drinks he could stop at became something he couldn't and someone ended up hospitalized again.

That jerk deserved it, but that didn't mean the next person would.

He needed something to distract his mind. That was the only way he'd functioned before, and he didn't have that here. He didn't have Judas Dane anymore, and that was a problem. And a pity. He'd actually liked that role, even as much as the robe was a pain and hot as hell most days. Being Judas was a strange sort of freedom, one he'd never known before, more like being himself than he'd been in a long time, even if he'd been someone else.

And that was gone now, leaving JD without a purpose or even a name to go by now.

He had to fix that, but names were not as simple as people thought. He chose his with great care, with a purpose. Oh, the first hadn't been his choice, and the second had been a poor joke, but it was still a choice that he had made, one that had amused him for a while.

Then he went to Vegas, and nothing amused him for a good long time after that.

He went back for a third glass, not even remembering drinking the second, but what the hell? It wasn't like there was anything here to stop him. No work, no Enid, no Veronica.

And he had a few more bottles around this place, so he wouldn't even have to go out.

Sounded almost perfect, didn't it?

He took a sip, let it burn, and told himself today he was at least picking a damned name.

* * *

_“Jason.”_

_The voice made him tense up, and he swallowed, forcing what had just come up his throat back down. He hated his father. He hated even more that he was afraid of him again. Nothing should scare him anymore, but his father did. JD wanted to be fearless. He wasn't. Bud terrified him._

_This trip to Vegas was different. It had been from the start. It wasn't just the bad memories, those days before the library and his mom acting stranger and stranger. She'd taken him so many places, talking about how she wanted to show him this and that while there was still time. She talked about remembering the good times later, even when the bad was happening._

_Vegas didn't have good times. She'd made sure of that, even if she'd been trying to make it so he had them. All he could remember was how she'd looked, how frantic she'd been, how desperate she'd been to keep his father away from him._

_And now she was dead, and his father had brought him back here again._

_Not to a house. Not to a cheap roadside inn, but here, in this casino hotel, locked away from everything up on a high floor with no hope of escaping out a window or a balcony._

 _And it was locked. Apparently in Vegas, they sold suites where one door could be locked from the outside only, leaving JD trapped inside while his father was free to go as he pleased._

_He should have heard his father coming in, but he hadn't, not until Bud was right behind him. And he'd panicked._

_Of course, his father liked that. “Surprised, Jason? Weren't you missing me just a little?”_

_“No,” JD told him, not wanting to look behind him. “I wouldn't care if you never came back.”_

_“Oh, attitude this time, is it?” Bud asked, leaning over JD's back. “Didn't we already have this talk? Don't you know better than that by now, Jason?”_

_“I know it doesn't matter one damned bit what I do because you'll do as you please to me anyway,” JD muttered. “And yes, we have discussed that before. You're getting repetitive in your old age, Bud.”_

_“Am I now? And what do you suppose I am about to say now?”_

_“How you love Vegas, how everything's for sale.”_

_“Close, but not quite. Almost.” Bud tapped him on the nose, smiling as he did. Patronizing asshole. JD wished he'd just get it over with and kill him already. “I was playing poker earlier. Not one of those penny ante games downstairs, no, no. One for the high rollers. Exclusive. Private. Just the sort of thing I could get used to.”_

_“I hope you lost everything including your damned shirt,” JD said, and his father laughed in his ear. “It's not funny. Gambling's stupid. You know that.”_

_“Gambling's only stupid when you can't afford to lose, and I can,” Bud said. “Remember, Jason. Your daddy's a rich man.”_

_“You sure you're my father? Because I have to think that you—”_

_“Don't you go talking about your mother that way,” Bud said, wrapping his hand around JD's throat and cutting off his air again. “She was many things, but I know she was always faithful to me. She didn't dare do otherwise.”_

_JD sucked in air as soon as Bud let go, filling his lungs and burning some as he did. He coughed, trying to recover. He was sure that was true. He didn't think his mother was the type to cheat in the first place, but knowing how possessive his father was, he doubted his mother would have tried it, even if she was desperate._

_“You want to claim I couldn't ever have fathered a child just to annoy me,” Bud said. He caressed JD's cheek, pretending to be kind. “Do you think I'd care half as much about you if you weren't actually mine?”_

_That was a thought that both appealed to and sickened JD at the same time. “You mean if I could prove I wasn't, you'd leave me alone?”_

_“No. You're still hers, after all, and so like her...”_

_JD shuddered, and his father laughed again._

_“It's just like they show in the movies, those private rooms,” Bud went on as if the rest of the conversation somehow hadn't happened, which JD sometimes wondered if he forgot or if he was doing it to screw with him. It didn't really matter, but it could get confusing when JD was concussed or out of it for other reasons. “People will bet all sorts of crazy things to keep the game going. Cars, businesses, watches, jewelry...”_

_“I hope you lost everything,” JD repeated, but his father only laughed._

_“Oh, no, you don't. You want me to win.”_

_“Why would I ever want that?”_

* * *

Hours later, he had no possibilities and a lot less alcohol.

Neither of which pleased him.

He didn't know what the hell to do with himself. Truth be told, there wasn't a lot out there for a semi-reformed killer and addict with a truckload of mental issues and a mind that refused to quit, even when it should.

He had to admit, that was why the drugs had held so much appeal for so long. They made forgetting happen whether he wanted them to or not. Parts of that year were still completely blank, and he knew he'd never get them back. Bud had liked that, letting JD's imagination fill in the worst for all of those missing days.

He probably wasn't just imagining things, but he'd never know for sure.

He'd thought that finding a car would distract him, but he hadn't found one he liked as much as the one he had to abandon, and he knew his need to have a car free of technology would only cause trouble in the end. Classic cars had a way of being noticed.

Things that got you noticed were always a problem.

James Dedman had found that out the hard way in Vegas.

He was not thinking about Vegas. Just because Enid was there didn't mean a damned thing. He would not work there, he would not visit her there, and he was not interested in helping with her mother. Enid had to make her decision there on her own, and when it came right down to it, only one person could keep that woman sober, and it wasn't her daughter.

And, really, the last thing Enid needed was to see her brother as drunk as her mother.

He winced and forced himself to the bed. He knew he'd dream—well, he knew he'd have nightmares and remember—but at least he'd sleep this off with minimal damage, and that was his life now. One giant game of damage control.

And if he was honest about it, he was damned sick of playing it.

* * *

When Enid showed up at the coffee shop the next morning, he knew he'd screwed up somewhere in the middle of all that drinking, but he couldn't remember it. He knew he wasn't using a phone she could trace—the last one he'd made any calls on had an unfortunate accident with a toilet about three states back—and he'd paid for his room in cash. She couldn't have tracked him. He knew that.

He'd reached out to her in some drunken moment of weakness, drunk enough where didn't even remember doing it. Wonderful. The only consolation was that he hadn't gone completely insane and contacted Veronica.

He might have wanted to, but he knew the danger in that. Slippery slopes without any chance of damage control, without any control whatsoever.

So, he found himself hungover and on edge, buying his sister a coffee and trying to find a facade she wouldn't see right through.

Naturally, that failed. Enid wasn't stupid, and whether he liked it or not, she knew him too well.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica goes on a search.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... technically the other story should go in between the last chapter and this one. I didn't want to repeat it, so I left it separate.
> 
> This part... well... I almost didn't include the end flashback, tried to do one with Mrs. Walker instead, but it didn't fit, so it ended up this one, as unpleasant as it is.

* * *

Veronica knew this was insane. She knew she was an idiot for even coming here, but she was tired of pretending at a normal life, and as much as she was glad she was back in touch with everyone again—well, maybe not her mother—she wasn't cut out for a life of sitting at home doing nothing. She'd functioned this long on next to no sleep and case after case. She might not have been the best agent ever, but she wasn't the kind of agent that just sat around, either. She was a workaholic, and while that had been blamed for the end of her marriage, she knew it wasn't just that.

She wasn't sure she'd ever loved Hanson, more the idea of him, and that sort of love never lasted. It got shattered when the illusion ended, and while he'd still been the safe choice when they divorced, he was never going to be the _right_ choice.

She shook her head, opening the door and forcing herself out of the car. She had work to do here, and she knew it really shouldn't surprise her how much she was looking forward to this. She hadn't been on a case in what felt like forever, even if it was less than a month, but this felt right. It felt good.

Much better than it should, too, which would be a problem soon enough.

She crossed the street to the coffee shop, stepping inside. This was a decent place to start, and she knew it wouldn't hurt to get a sense of things. She went to the counter and ordered an old favorite, one she'd stopped having when her own paranoia got too much for her. She'd thought cutting back on the caffeine would help.

She should have known it wasn't the problem.

She waited at the end of the bar for her drink, looking around at the decorations. This one wasn't a part of a chain, a local shop with its own flavor, despite the relative familiarity of its offerings and atmosphere.

Still, it wasn't what she needed. She took a sip of her coffee, testing it, and left the shop, looking around the city and trying decide her next move.

She needed a plan, and visiting a coffee shop wasn't enough of one. She shook her head at herself, knowing it was going to take a lot more than one visit to find what she was looking for.

She walked back to her rental, putting her cup in the holder and getting behind the wheel.

“Coming here was a mistake,” a voice said from behind her, and while a part of her found it unsettling, the rest of her was relieved. “You know that, don't you?”

“Of course I do.”

“And yet you came.”

“I had to. Enid was worried.”

“You came because of Enid?”

“I was also bored out of my skull.”

That got him laughing, and God help her, she'd missed that.

* * *

“You do realize that getting into a woman's car in broad daylight is going to be a problem,” Veronica said after it got quiet. She reached for her coffee and took another sip. “You could have been seen. In fact, some surveillance probably picked that up, and you'll be on film. If I drive away now, it'll look like you're kidnapping me or something.”

He snorted. “Maybe I should, just to prove to you how bad of an idea this was, but if you think I go anywhere without a signal jammer, you're getting naïve in your old age, Veronica. I'm too paranoid not to have something like that on me. I'm legally dead, after all, and with all this facial recognition going on... well, that would be a problem, now wouldn't it?”

“Yes,” Veronica agreed. “Not that you don't have plenty of them without being recognized.”

“Another reason you shouldn't have come,” JD told her. “Go ahead and drive up a block. Take that right and the next two lefts.”

“Should I worry about where you're telling me to go?” Veronica asked, turning on the car. When it started, she had to reconsider his signal jammer, but then maybe it was wifi only or something. The car's electronics seemed fine.

“You took the risk just coming here. Anything past that point is fair game.”

She nodded in agreement before she pulled out into traffic, following his directions. They were simple enough, and he was right, they were soon at a park. She stopped the car, and he was up and out of it before she could shut it down. She swore, unbuckling herself and hurrying after him.

“Now you run?”

“Oh, there was a good part of me that thought about not meeting you in the first place,” he admitted as she caught up to him. “Only I knew that if you were determined to find me—or where I'd been—you'd show pictures of me around, ask about me, and that's just as bad as someone getting me on camera.”

Veronica couldn't deny that. All she'd had to go on was the coffee shop Enid had given her, where she'd met JD the other day and found his behavior even more worrisome than his initial silence. Enid was freaked out, though she would almost seem to have no reason to be. JD was walking fine, without any sign of illness. He seemed fine—physically, at least—though he would have wanted to be sure he showed that no matter what state he was in.

Still, when JD looked at her—and he was doing his best not to—it was there in his eyes.

“So you met me to stop me from looking for you. And you stayed in Reno for the same reason, because you knew if Enid or I did look for you, we'd start here.”

“Yes.”

“And you weren't actually going to hold up your end of that little compromise Enid negotiated, were you?”

“No.”

She swore. “Damn it, JD. You—”

“We both know that would have been the right thing to do,” he said, holding up a hand as soon as she opened her mouth. “No. Don't say I don't know that. I do. Have you forgotten what Richards did to you? He was obsessed with you—”

“I haven't forgotten one damned thing about that,” Veronica snapped. “I go over and over it, wondering how I missed it, how much of what I knew was a manipulation, where I missed all warning signs that should have been there. I think about how he twisted things enough where I couldn't trust my own judgment. I think about how he hurt his son. I think about the women that died. I think too damned much, and that was half the reason I left everyone behind to find you. I needed something more than being alone with my thoughts.”

He nodded as though he understood it, and she thought he did, at least the last part, thought she wasn't going to say that or ask him about it.

“You like to edit things to suit you, though, and you keep forgetting... I was obsessed with you, too, Veronica.”

She almost gagged at the words, feeling the wind get knocked out of her with them. He couldn't have hurt her more if he'd tried. Physical pain would have been easier to bear. “You bastard. Don't you go tying that together—”

“It's better for you if it _does_ get that negative connection,” he said, and she glared at him. “You can't trust me. I can't trust me. I killed for you. I would have kept on doing it. I wanted to rid the world of all the bullies, and I found my muse, my _raison d'être_ in you. I set Heather Duke up to be the next to die to win you back. I was just as obsessed with you as he was. I played mind games with you, too. _Ich Luge,_ remember?”

“Your accent in French is better than your German.”

He snorted. “They're both shit and don't change the subject. You shouldn't be here, Veronica. You shouldn't have come after me.”

“Enid has her mother to deal with, and no one else knows you're alive, but someone had to come after you,” Veronica told him. “You say we're bad for each other, but being alone doesn't seem to be any better for you.”

“I'm fine.”

“Bullshit. If you were fine, you'd be down with Enid instead of here in Reno with that look in your eyes. I see it now like I saw it just before you blew yourself up—or I thought you did—you had that speech, and you made it sound and look like dying then was what you wanted, but your eyes... you didn't want it. You were just so full of pain you couldn't take it anymore. And yes, damn it, that's why I closed my eyes when you blew up. Or I thought you blew up.”

JD swallowed, and she used the small advantage she'd gained by admitting that to get closer to him. She put her hands on his face, looking into those same haunted eyes.

“If you go off on your own now, you're going to end up dead, and none of us wants that,” she insisted. “Even if you think you do, you don't. You... you deserve a chance at the life you never got because you got screwed up so badly along the way, and I think you were finally starting to get there when this case came along and brought me back into your life.”

“I have no interest in settling with some woman who could never know the truth of me and procreating, pretending at some farce of normalcy I was not and never will be a part of,” JD said, shaking his head as he pulled away from her. “Not only are the Dean genes clearly defective, I'm not a good choice for a father. And you know how badly I screwed up being a boyfriend, so the idea of me as something more than that, as a life partner... No. I'm fine on my own.”

“No one said you had to get married. You have a sister. You can have a family. Just go and visit her. Stay with her because that's what family does and you're—”

“No. I don't do Vegas. Ever.”

The vehemence of his words shocked Veronica, but that was it. That was the key to it, wasn't it? Enid had said it was, but Veronica hadn't been so sure. Now, though, she was. Something had happened in Vegas. She just didn't know what. 

“You met Mrs. Carver when she came to see Enid, didn't you? You didn't go down to Vegas with Enid or anything like that.”

“Why would I? We were just business associates before, and Ms. Carver—she never married—is nothing to me even now. She showed up to surprise Enid, ended up wasted, it was not a good time for anyone.”

Clearly it wasn't about Enid's mother. It went deeper than that. “I would have thought Vegas would be perfect for your psychic act. All the shows, the bright lights. You'd have fit right in down there.”

He shuddered, shaking his head. “No. I hated every time I set foot in that hellhole, and I will never go back. I don't care who Enid is or what that blood supposedly means. She's on her own in that place, and she better keep it that way. If she goes and says anything about Bud Dean being her father...”

Veronica swallowed. “JD, what did he do in Vegas?”

“I don't know all of it. The first time, at least the first time I remember, Mom was still alive, and she kept me from him, taking me all sorts of places. She kept us so busy—and so far from him—I barely remember the visit.”

“That doesn't sound so bad.”

“We went to Texas next,” he told her, as though he wanted Veronica to regret saying that. “That was the library. She waved goodbye, and boom. Goodbye, Mom. Goodbye childhood.”

Veronica flinched. “If she was trying to keep you from him, could she have known what was coming? Because the more I think about what he did to you and how she died... the more I wonder if it was actually a suicide.”

“He killed her, one way or another, and it really doesn't matter.”

Veronica knew it did. His mother dying like that, possibly abandoning him to his father, who was clearly abusive, had fueled that sense he had that he was unloved—unlovable—and led to him trying to blow up the school. His idea of love was warped, and that was why he considered what he felt for Veronica an obsession.

She didn't want to fight him now, not about that. She had to get him to go to Enid, at least, if he wasn't willing to be around her—and she knew he was probably right not to be, much as a part of her wanted him close again.

“If that was all that went wrong in Vegas, I think you'd be fine with going again,” Veronica said, and he shook his head.

“I didn't say that was all there was, did I?” JD snapped. “Forget it. Leave it alone. Leave _me_ alone. Go back to Ohio. Forget you ever saw me, and don't bother asking anyone here where I've gone because they won't know and I don't plan on leaving any traces of myself here.”

“What did he do to you in Vegas, JD?”

“He broke me.”

* * *

_“And how was your day, son? Everything good at school?” Bud asked, laughing to himself as he opened the door. “Why, yes, Dad, it was the best day ever. I didn't have to go to school at all.”_

_JD looked over and flipped him off. He might not have been stuck going to school here, but that didn't mean much. He knew it was a punishment, even if it didn't seem like it. He couldn't go out. He couldn't see anyone. This was about George. Yes, they'd passed through a couple times since then, but that didn't change anything. JD knew what it was. He'd dared to have a friend, something he'd sworn off doing after his father murdered his dog, but George was one of those people who was just plain nice. It happened. He'd even offered to help JD get a job, and that was something that had appealed to him. His own money. Freedom._

_He'd been a fool to think his father would ever let that happen._

_“Gee, son, I think you've been drinking,” JD muttered. “Maybe you should go sleep it off.”_

_Bud laughed, flopping down on the bed. “That was a good one. I liked it. Do it again.”_

_“What are you, five? Never mind. You're drunk. Go away.”_

_Bud shook his head, crawling over and shoving JD down on the bed. He started to fight again, as always. It was instinctual. He couldn't help it, even if he knew it would do no good. Bud had him pinned quickly enough, and though he kept squirming, it did no good._

_“You've been refusing to eat again. I can always tell,” Bud said, leaning down into his face. “It makes you so easy to subdue.”_

_JD glared up at him. “Did someone forget he had me locked in this hellhole? I can't get to the food, you bastard. I only get to eat if you let me.”_

_Bud smiled. “Very true. I do so enjoy controlling you, Jason.”_

_“Like hell you do,” JD said, though he knew he was braver than he sounded. He was trapped here, and his father won all those damned games they played, where he screwed with JD's head in some sick way, trying to make him kill himself like his mother had._

_“Your mother used to think that, too,” his father said, touching his cheek, grin wide and evil. “She thought she was free, but she never was. She was mine.”_

_JD shuddered._

_“And you are mine.”_

_“Fuck you.”_

_That had Bud laughing. “Oh, Jason. You wouldn't say that if you knew what I knew.”_

_JD shook his head, refusing to give into the bait. His father wanted him to ask what he was doing, what he knew, and then he could laugh and delight in telling him whatever sick thing he thought was a secret. JD didn't want to play that game again. “Are you going to stink up my face all night with your breath or are you actually going to do something?”_

_“That defiance. Still thinking you can mouth off to me,” Bud said, patting him on the cheek, still keeping him pinned down with his other arm. “Do you remember what I said about everyone and everything being for sale here? That a fool with enough money can win them all?”_

_JD almost said no to spite him, but he didn't want to hear it again. "Yes."_

_“And how everything here can be bet as well as bought,” Bud said, smiling down at him. “Think about it, Jason. Those private gambling rooms. Raising the stakes by whatever you feel like betting. Things you can lose...”_

_“Like everything? Does that mean you're done here?”_

_Bud snorted. “I told you, Jason. You don't want me to lose.”_

_He rolled his eyes. “Of course I do. I hate you, and I want you to lose everything you have, you asshole. Leave me alone.”_

_“You know what I've seen people bet? Cars. Homes. Jewelry. Watches. Wives. Husbands. They'll offer just about anything for money.” Bud leaned down to JD's ear. “And I offered them you.”_

_“What?”_

_“You know what,” Bud said, smiling wickedly. “You know what you'd have to do if I had lost. You know what you'd be doing for the lucky man that won you.”_

_“No.” JD squirmed again, trying to get free. “You know I'd never do that. No matter how much you beat me or threatened me, I'd never go through with it. And no one would want you to—they wouldn't. You can't. No one would want that. Not from me. I'm... I'm your son. I'm... too young. You can't bet me in a card game.”_

_Bud laughed. “Oh, you being young just increases your value. You know how hard it is to get at something like you without a lot of nasty repercussions?”_

_“No. You can't. They wouldn't accept that bet. They'd have to force it, and no one would—they wouldn't play for that.”_

_“They would. They have. And you're damned lucky that so far, I've managed to win,” Bud said, laughing. “Of course, I won't always be so lucky, but you better start hoping I win every hand, or the number of people you'll have to pay back will grow.”_

_“No,” JD repeated, but he knew what he sounded like. A child, a scared little child, terrified by the monster under the bed and trying to tell himself he wasn't scared of the dark._

_“You still don't understand,” Bud said, hand on his cheek again. “You are property, Jason. You belong to me. Only me. And while you haven't learned that lesson yet, you will. Even if it means losing a few games and having to share you with strangers.”_

_“That's sick. Even for you, it's twisted. You won't do it. You just want me to think you're going to, but you won't.”_

_“Believe what you want, Jason,” Bud said, rising and letting him go without a beating. “I'm off to play another game. Don't wait up for me. It's going to be a very, very long night.”_

_JD watched him leave before pulling his knees up against his chest and shuddering. He wanted to be stronger than this, to believe it was just a lie his father was telling him to frighten him, but it was working. He was terrified, and if that happened, if Bud did that to him..._

_He'd win. JD didn't care how high up they were from the ground. He'd jump out the window and end it. He almost wanted to do it now, to spare himself what might be coming._

 _Instead, he lowered his head and did something he hadn't done in years. He wept._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica gets a bit more from JD, though he keeps most of it to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was interesting to me that the piece I felt most capable of picking up and working on after a longer than usual shift at my job was this one. The whole brain is a dark place thing once again, I suppose, since it was all I managed between fatigue and migraine.

* * *

_Days came and went. He could tell time passed. The windows showed daylight and then the dark of night, and though each hour was an eternity, he knew that time was actually passing. He counted the sunrises and the sunsets. Seven of them, each worse than the last._

_His father was driving him insane, slowly, mercilessly, and enjoying every damned minute of it, even if he just seemed to be his same old drunken self._

_This had to be deliberate. JD knew it was, even if he couldn't prove it._

_His father was just doing this to screw with his head, again, and while he knew that was what it was, he couldn't stop himself from tensing up every time the door opened. His father would come in, laughing, and he would be so sure that this was the time when it wasn't just a threat, not just a story, but no one else came into the room._

_He couldn't relax, since his father would flop on the bed and tell him all about the game he'd just played and how many times he'd been able to use JD as his bet. Those games were never the first of the night, not the second or the fifth, so to get to that part of the story took time._

_Nothing JD did made his father stop from telling him, and he ended up more bruised trying to stop a conversation than he had a beating or anything else. Drunk Bud loved this game of theirs, and he wasn't about to be stopped from playing it._

_And since his father was a drunken asshole who couldn't be bothered to stop tormenting JD for a damned minute, always having to tell JD what he thought the other poker players would do if they did win him, he tended to pass out he was finally done with his story._

_JD had tried to use that to get out, but the door was still locked. Bud had just laughed at him the first few times._

_The last few, JD hadn't even felt up to moving. Bud couldn't be bothered to feed him, and while there always seemed to be something around to drink, even if it was just the water from the ice melted in the bucket, he hadn't eaten since before his father's first taunt about him being a bet._

_He'd tried pointing out that he was useless as a pervert's sex toy if he died of starvation, but his father just laughed, patted his cheek, and passed out. When he woke, JD tried asking for food._

_His father's suggestions on how he could earn it made him sick, and he didn't want to ask again._

_So this was it. He was going to die a slow death of starvation all the while terrified that he'd be handed over like some kind of prize. His one hope of not dying like that was to end up raped, and what the hell kind of hope was that?_

_Fine. As soon as he gathered his strength, he was going to that window and jumping out. He wasn't going to die like this._

* * *

“Broke you?”

“Why do you say that like it surprises you?” JD asked, and Veronica flinched at his tone. “You know my compass doesn't point north and there's more than a few screws loose up there. Hell, the whole damned thing is loose.”

She knew he was damaged. She knew he wasn't someone with the sort of morality he should have. None of that was new, but she hadn't seen it in him, not at first, and while she knew much more about his relationship with his father now, she still found herself asking that question.

“Vegas was before Ohio,” she said, trying to explain herself. “And you didn't seem broken then. You were this glorious dark knight swooping in to save me from my problems—and lead me straight to hell. You were so brave, so bold... You had a gun you used to shoot Kurt and Ram. You were so... forceful. Virile. Alive.”

He tilted his head to the side, studying her. “You came pretty damned close to derailing my entire line of thought with that one word, you know that, right? Who the hell says virile, anyway?”

“Apparently I do, and you are changing the subject.”

“Because you wanted me to,” he said, and she tried to argue, but he shook his head. “That was a deliberately chosen word, not some Freudian slip. You're stalling, aren't you? For what? Enid's back in Vegas, and even if she wasn't, you can't stop me from going.”

“Oh, please. I am not stalling,” she muttered. “Would you rather I used the word 'sexy?' Would that help get your mind back on track?”

“No.”

“Asshole.”

He shrugged. “We've been intimate, Veronica, and even if we hadn't been, bringing up sex is not a good way to keep a man's mind focused. There's some statistic somewhere about how men think about sex every seven seconds—”

“Not true.”

“Why, because Hanson was impotent as well as unadventurous?”

“JD, I am not discussing my marriage with you, now or ever,” Veronica said. That was a place she couldn't go. Yes, she'd made a mistake. Yes, she knew it. Did she want JD knowing all about it? No. He already knew way too damned much there. She still didn't know how he'd found out about her ex-husband's insistence on only using one position in bed, but she didn't want to know.

“I never said I wanted to,” JD told her. “I tried to wish you the best, but you know... it never worked that way. I knew just looking at him he was all wrong for you.”

“And you still think you're the right one for me?”

“Even if I did, this isn't going to work,” he said, stepping toward her. “I know when people are manipulating me, even if they don't even think they are, but you have been turning the subject away from the one you know I don't want to discuss because the longer we dance around it and all the other land mines in our relationship, the longer I stay here. You may think that's a victory. It isn't.”

She swallowed, hating the way he could always turn things on her like this. “I wasn't the one who changed the subject. You did. You took a verbal misstep and turned it into a conspiracy. All I said was that you didn't seem broken to me when I first knew you.”

“By Sherwood, I'd learned how to fake things with the best of them,” JD said, looking away from her. “I may even have started to rebuild a little. I had a plan for how to get free of my father, but he had to keep on believing that I wouldn't defy him. And I couldn't let anyone else see how badly he'd damaged me. I had to be that strong, in your face rebel. It was... safer that way. None of the assholes in the school would mess with me. I just had to deal with one monster, not all of them.”

“Only you started killing other people's bullies.”

He shrugged. “I was performing a service. Helping the little guy. Sparing them in a way no one ever spared me.”

“Do you blame your mother?”

He ran a hand over his face. “Sometimes. If she did kill herself, I want to hate her because she knew what he was and she didn't stop him. She gave me over to him, and he... Well, there's no point in talking about what he did.”

“Except it still affects you. You won't go near Vegas because of him.”

“Not just because of him.”

She frowned. She'd thought it was the memories—and that bit of PTSD he'd shown earlier—stopping him from going down there. “Those enemies of your father's, the ones you said that Enid should be afraid of—”

“I said she shouldn't admit to being Bud Dean's kid. Not even if he was a donor and her mother the less than willing recipient. There's a difference.”

Veronica wanted to shake him, needing to get him to spell it out this time because he was just talking in circles and frustrating her. “Is there someone still alive in Vegas that you're afraid of?”

“I'm a dead man. What do I have to fear?”

“Lots of things. You just said you were worried about what would happen if we stayed close, if you let yourself be near me again,” Veronica said, disliking her methods but pushing anyway, knowing she didn't have much choice. If there was a living, breathing threat in Las Vegas, she wanted to know about it. “And this isn't even about that. What happened back in Vegas that has you so scared?”

“Are you honestly asking me that?”

“If it was just about Bud, you could probably find a way to go back,” Veronica said, and he glared at her. “I'm right, aren't I? You could go back despite what he put you through there because he's dead. You know he can't do it again. You... You've already been back, haven't you?”

His expression darkened, and she could tell she'd hit a nerve there, too. 

“What happened?”

“What didn't?”

* * *

_“I've booked you a room and set up a credit line for you,” Mrs. Walker said. “You won't have to worry about expenses. I've covered all of that. What I'd like to do before you go is buy you a new wardrobe.”_

_“Are you hiring a detective or a young piece of ass?” JD asked, and she flushed red. It was almost funny to see. “Think about it. This is the part of the movie where the detective should have known his client was suckering him into a trap. Rule one of all good film noir. If your client is a beautiful rich woman, she's guilty.”_

_“That would be so simple, wouldn't it?” Mrs. Walker said, shaking her head with a sigh. “I'm afraid not. The police cleared me, and you can check my alibi again if you like.”_

_Considering she'd been on live television at the time, it was pretty damned hard to have faked, but she could have done it. Maybe she had, and it would have been one hell of a show if she'd managed it, since she'd been all over the news feeds on the arm of her father the senator, waving and helping with his campaign._

_“You sure it's not someone else?”_

_“You mean my father? I assure you, the police are happily considering that angle. If I thought it wasn't being given due attention—even though I know my father to be incapable of such a thing—I'd have hired you for that instead, but I need you to find the truth of those men he was doing business with, and no one else can.”_

_JD frowned. “Flattery doesn't work on me, lady. I don't buy it. It just makes me suspicious. What are you trying to hide?”_

_“I could tell you rumors,” she said, now looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Of their possible connection to an extensive drug trade. Or I could tell you how it unsettled me when my husband introduced me to his business partner and he couldn't stop staring at our twelve year old daughter.”_

_Damn it. If there was one crime he couldn't ignore, that was it. She'd found the right button to push, though it was easy enough to do—almost anyone would have been sensitive to crimes against children, but he'd lived a life of hell thanks to his father, and he would gladly kill anyone like Bud Dean or his friends, like Woods, that had exploited him._

_“I can't prove any of that, of course,” Mrs. Walker went on. “Just what I saw and what I've heard—and my own conviction that they are responsible for my husband's disappearance. I have a similar sense about you, that you're exactly what I need. I can't hire a local man to do this. They'd know, and I am not so stupid, nor would I ever want to be. I'm sure you're the right one for this job, just the sort of person they'd think they could use, but you'll find the truth.”_

_“Again with the flattery. What aren't you telling me?”_

_“You won't be meeting them at the actual development. That's not how they work. They pick their prey other ways.”_

_That was one hell of a way to phrase it. “And how exactly do they do that?”_

_“They want to know two things—that you have money to lose and that you like taking risks,” she said. “They think gamblers make good investors. They like risks, especially ones they think will pay off, and this thing looks like such a sure thing it fools even the best of them.”_

_“Gamblers?”_

_“This is his name and address, though he'll seek you out if you spend a bit of cash, show him you're made of money,” Mrs. Walker said, holding out a card to him. “I think the retainer I just gave you should cover that, and as I said, I've established a line of credit, but should you need more for any reason, just let me know.”_

_He picked up the card and frowned. “This address is in Nevada.”_

_“Yes, it is.”_

_“It's in Las Vegas. I don't do Vegas.”_

_“It's only for the initial meeting. They'll want to take you elsewhere once you're on board with the investment. Go to the casino, lose some, win some—all with my money, don't worry about using your own—and he'll find you. Once you've made contact, he'll want to show you the actual project, which is miles away.”_

_“I don't gamble.”_

_She stared at him. “You're kidding.”_

_“No, I'm not. Find someone else. I'm not doing this.”_

* * *

“Well, you didn't kill anyone,” Veronica said, watching JD carefully. “So I know that much, I suppose. Or don't I?”

He turned away again. “I wanted to. Oh, I wanted to. I wanted to blow up that whole damned casino and everyone in it. The greed. The lies. They all deserved it.”

“Except some of them are just ordinary people who think they can help their families if they just win a little. Or they're just there to work, and none of them deserved to die,” Veronica said, aware of the parallels and how uncomfortable this was. She knew he hadn't seen the innocent parties in what he wanted to do to Westerburg, and he had convinced himself that only death would solve their problems. It wasn't true.

“Maybe I could have spared Enid some trouble.”

“That's not funny.”

He nodded. “You're right. It's not.”

She reached over to touch his arm, wanting to bring him back from wherever he kept going. That place was dark enough to scare her, as he had scared her before. She knew she couldn't be his sanity, no one could, but he'd made a choice to stop killing, and he could come back from this if he wanted to. He'd done it before, hadn't he? So he could do it now.

“I never should have gotten involved with Walker.”

Veronica frowned. “Walker?”

“Not important,” JD said, pulling away from her. “Go back to Ohio, Veronica. Forget about all of this. It doesn't matter.”

“It does.”

“Don't follow me,” he said, walking away from her. “Don't bother looking. I haven't left anything here for you to find.”

She didn't doubt that, and while she wanted to stop him, she forced herself to let him go. She had pushed plenty, and if she went after him now, she really would lose him. She knew it was a fine line, and she could be wrong about this, but she swallowed it down and told herself to stick with her first instinct.

She turned back and went to her car. She opened the door, sitting down and taking out her phone. She hit the button, making the call.

“I need you to find out everything you can about someone named Walker.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enid and Veronica talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I knew what I was doing with this chapter and it was easy, or relatively easy, but the flashback I thought was JD's second scene for the chapter was not forthcoming, so I skipped it. And then Enid's conversation with Veronica was odd, and she found something that surprised me, too.
> 
> Characters... one shouldn't leave them in charge of fics, but they do what they please, I swear.

* * *

_“You wouldn't have to gamble,” Walker told him, and he frowned at her. What was with this woman? He'd already said no. He wasn't going to change his mind. “They just want you to look like a risk taker. Give your money to some pretty bimbo if you want. Let her gamble it. You don't have to do anything but stand by her side and wait for them to contact you.”_

_“I also already said no,” JD reminded her. “I told you—I don't do Vegas.”_

_“I doubt you'd need more than a couple hours to make contact,” she said. “I'm telling you—you are just what they want.”_

_That made him frown. “What do you mean by that?”_

_“I told you—they want young men with money. You are a young man, and I'd be making you look like you had money. It helps that you're charismatic and good looking. They seem to prefer a bit of eye candy as well—my husband was older than you but still quite handsome.” Walker gave him a bit of a wistful smile. “Why do you think I want him back so badly?”_

_“If that's your only reason, you should probably just use this money of yours to get a new boy toy,” he told her, smiling as he did. She had plenty of options for that, and he didn't see why she had to go insisting on doing this._

_“I have a daughter,” Walker reminded him. “I have to find out what happened to her father for her sake as well as my own. She deserves to know the truth. I deserve to know the truth. I won't rest until I have it, and you, Mr. Dedman can help me with that. You're one of few who can. Have you seen the average detective? They tend to be failed cops. Or corrupt cops, but the ones that fail tend to fail the physical as well as the psychological. I met with others. They didn't have your looks or your intelligence. I didn't think any of them capable of what I'm asking, and I'm running out of time.”_

_“It's a business deal.”_

_Walker shook her head. “That part is, but how long before they do something that makes it so I can never know what happened to my husband?”_

_“What if they already have?”_

_“Then I have already lost,” Walker said with a sigh, “but that does not mean that I won't try. I have to do this. I have to do everything I can to find out what happened.”_

_“Only you're not doing it. You're asking me to, and I told you no.”_

_She let out a breath. “I have done all I could. They won't answer me. They've already convinced the police I'm lying. I need someone they won't think is connected to me. I've asked you because you're the best person for this. I'm sure of it. I want you. I'll pay you whatever you want. Anything else I can do to persuade you—whatever it takes.”_

_“You're desperate.”_

_“You already knew that,” she said. “What I need to know is if you'll help me.”_

_He knew that he should say no. He wanted to, had a bad feeling about taking this on, and everything he knew said to get the hell away from her and this plan. He knew. And yet as he looked at her, he knew something else—he was about to be a complete idiot and do it anyway. He couldn't even think of a good reason why._

_Damn it._

_What the hell was wrong with him? He wasn't a masochist. He wasn't a hero. And he wasn't stupid. He didn't do this kind of thing. He'd freed himself when his father died, and he'd never risk going back to anything close to that. He didn't risk much, period. He was careful. He had plans. He had layers upon layers of protection to ensure he was never found._

_He'd throw them all away if he went to Vegas, and he knew it._

_He knew better than this._

_And yet his mouth opened, and out came the words that damned him. “Which casino?”_

* * *

Enid scrambled for her phone the instant it rang, hoping it was her brother getting over himself and realizing he needed help, not just pretending he was fine. Jay might have made jokes and seemed in control at that coffee shop, but she wasn't an idiot. He was not okay. She'd seen him like this before, a few times over the course of working for him, and that was usually when one of their cases took a turn from odd or bad to seriously fucked up and horrific.

Like the one with the child prostitution ring.

She shuddered, willing herself not to think about that one again as she answered the call.

“This better be good. I'm a very busy, highly in demand lady with skills you won't believe,” she said, since hello was such a lame way to answer the phone and she knew Jay found her various unprofessional greetings hilarious whenever he caught them at the office.

“I need you to find out everything you can about someone named Walker.”

Damn. It was only Veronica. Enid had really hoped it would be her brother reaching out to her again. Jay needed someone, and she knew they'd worked together well. Maybe he just needed a project. If she found him one, she could get him back.

“Are you kidding me?” Enid asked, going over Veronica's request again. She was not that woman's pet hacker, and she wasn't doing that just because Veronica asked. It was a pointless request, too, the kind meant to waste someone's time. Okay, so maybe she deserved a little of that for all this wedding stuff, but there was no way she was stupid enough to take that on. 

Really, if that was Veronica's idea of revenge, it was kind of pathetic.

“Do you have any idea how many Walkers there are in the world?” Enid went on, shaking her head. “I mean, it would have been worse if you'd said 'Smith,' but Walker isn't doing me any favors, either, and why the hell would I look up a Walker for you when you haven't brought me my brother? Right. I'm hanging up on you now.”

“JD let the name slip. It's something to do with why he won't go back to Vegas.”

Enid stilled. She didn't look over at her mother, though she was sure the woman was staring at her by now. She felt a little dizzy, kind of light-headed, but she'd actually slept last night, worried as she was, and she wasn't living on coffee and fumes right now.

“You talked to him?”

“I did, and he—”

“Why the hell isn't he here?” Enid demanded. “He'd better still be with you, or I am going to come up there and—”

“He's not there because he threatened to disappear completely if I followed him,” Veronica interrupted. “Look, I know it's not much, this name, but I pushed him as far as I dared. He wasn't going to stay. He probably already left, more or less, just... waited for me to show up so he could stop me from showing his picture around, which would have been about the only way I could have found him.”

“You can't do that,” Enid said, feeling a bit sick. “Jay can't afford that kind of attention.”

“I know that. You know that. He knows that.” Veronica sighed. “He admitted he's avoiding Vegas. Not you. Not really. He might be willing to be in contact with you if you weren't there.”

“Yeah, well, short of kidnapping my mother, I'm not sure we can change that, much as I'd like to throw her in rehab again,” Enid said, that time looking over at her mother, who had passed out again. Wonderful. Enid had no idea where she'd gotten the money or the booze, but she was sick of this. “Okay, let's just do that. It'll be fine.”

“It's not going to fix everything,” Veronica said. “He said what happened in Vegas broke him. That Bud broke him.”

“Shit.”

“He also said you shouldn't let anyone know you're Bud's daughter. It'll be dangerous for you if you do, but he wouldn't say why. All I'm sure of is that your father—”

“Genetic donor.”

“—probably made enemies while he was in Vegas. JD did say he was there more than once, including when his mother was still alive—”

“I think that could have been when Bud met my mother,” Enid said, since she'd done some math on it in the past, at least about the ages she and Jay were on paper. “Still, that's not really the point.”

“Well, it does kind of put things into a bit of a time frame, actually, which might help,” Veronica said. “He mentioned two trips to Vegas with his father. One when his mother was still alive. The second was after, the one he said broke him.”

Enid really didn't like the sound of that. “I'm not so sure you should say it like that.”

“It doesn't get any better if I say it other ways,” Veronica said. “Neither of us is under any illusions here, Enid. Bud abused your brother. He held him prisoner, got him addicted to drugs, and fucked his mind over in ways I don't want to think about. Whatever he did in Vegas was a big part of that, and I'm not sure JD will ever talk about it, but he also said—well, I figured out he did go back later, too.”

“What? When?”

“Sometime after Bud died,” Veronica said. “I'm sorry. I didn't get much to narrow it down beyond that, but whatever it was, it was in Vegas, after Bud's death but I'd bet before Judas Dane, involved this Walker person, and was bad. I asked him what happened, and he said, 'what didn't?' So this thing, whatever it was, had to have been really bad, maybe enough to where it made headlines. See if you can track it down.”

“Gee, thanks. Leave me with the hopeless task,” Enid muttered. “We don't even know if this will get us anywhere. I might not be able to find anything, and if I do, it's going to take a while. That's a lot of time to search through.”

“I know,” Veronica said. “There's only one other thing I can think of that might help.”

“Oh?” Enid asked, instantly suspicious.

“I'm coming to you. To Vegas.”

“And what good is that going to do? I don't need you watching over my shoulder constantly. This wild goose chase you're sending me on will suck enough without that.”

“Yes, but we don't have a lot of other options,” Veronica said. “I think your brother watched over me for years, even if he kept his distance. If I go to Vegas, there's a chance, however small, that he'll come. If he's still watching, he'll come.”

“Those odds suck,” Enid said. “But you get your ass down here anyway.”

* * *

He checked into a quiet roadside hovel.

Hotel.

He didn't really care which word he used. They were about the same thing. All that mattered was that there were walls around him, a roof above him, and the people who rented it took cash without asking any sort of questions at all. No need for identification or the license plate of his vehicle. They didn't care.

And people who didn't care worked for him. He did not want to care. He never had. All that brought was pain. He should have learned that with his mother, but he didn't. He'd let a dog become his next focus, his only friend, and of course his father took that from him, just like he'd beaten George for being a friend.

JD wasn't sure what Bud would have done to Veronica. Something painful, something that would make JD suffer, too, but he hadn't made a move against her. His father wasn't above using a threat as leverage and never following through on it, though JD knew if Veronica hadn't dumped him, Bud would have hurt her.

Instead, he let that threat hang over JD's head, which may or may not have made him more reckless than usual. He wasn't sure he could explain everything going through his head after meeting Veronica and killing Heather Chandler. He did know he'd felt alive again, meeting Veronica. He wasn't just going through the motions of surviving as he had since Vegas, since Woods. He'd also thrown away well-crafted plans and his own freedom for her, killing bullies and thinking he was not only doing the world a favor but increasing her love for him as well.

That was a mistake, but then JD had never said he was perfect.

No, if he was even close to good he wouldn't be sitting alone in a crappy hotel, drinking away memories and trying to find some way to end that age old question. He knew the speech from Hamlet, though he'd always go with shit or get off the pot over it.

He'd spent so many years not killing himself as a matter of pride, of refusing to let his father win, and now, years after the bastard's death, JD wasn't really sure why he fought it so damned much. Veronica might have thought he had a reason to keep going, but if he did, he sure as hell didn't see it.

Well... there was Enid, but Enid... Enid was much better off not hacking into the places she'd gone for him, and he wasn't really brother material. What if Enid ever had kids and they wanted their uncle? No, that just wasn't him.

He put the bottle to his lips again, wanting to silence his thoughts for a damned minute. He hated this feeling in his mind. He needed to shut it up, turn it off, distract it, but he couldn't find anything good enough for that.

Names weren't enough. Purpose... well, he'd lacked that for long enough, and he didn't have one now. He'd read all the books on psychology he could stand, and the idea of going through another for any reason, even his boredom and need for something for this twisted mind of his to do was not enough to pull him back in.

He'd seen enough darkness in the human mind, and he was tired of looking at it.

Tired of finding it where he hadn't wanted to, tired of it preying on the people he cared about in spite of himself.

He closed his eyes and tried to will the way Veronica had looked today out of his mind, the way it had felt when she touched him. Those were things he really couldn't allow himself to think about.

He lifted the bottle, determined to finish it off.

* * *

“You're late,” Enid said, opening the door, and Veronica rolled her eyes, not even bothering with saying hello or trying to fight about that one. She'd made the drive in a relatively short time, to her mind, and she knew she'd broken a few speed limits along the way, though she wasn't sure why.

Driving to Vegas didn't mean saving anyone, and she had no guarantee that JD would come back if he knew she was here. It was just her best option at the moment, and she knew she couldn't go back to Ohio right now.

She was too damned worried to be that far away, even if she was only close to Enid now, not JD, and she couldn't have sat around while he was out there, trying to be calm and pretend she was enjoying her retirement with her friends.

She wasn't. She was glad to spend time with all of them, she was, but it wasn't enough, and she knew she was terrible for that, but she was a workaholic without a job, and while she hadn't been to see her shrink in a while, she knew she'd be told she had some form of PTSD and wasn't working on that, either. She knew running from her own problems didn't solve anything, but she welcomed the distraction anyway.

“Any progress on the Walker angle?”

“Did you bring me coffee or a slushie?”

Veronica folded her arms over her chest. “You torture me for weeks with wedding crap, drawing my friends and even my mother—and that's damned low, by the way—into this lie and expect me to give you coffee when I show up?”

“Or a slushie,” Enid said, and her wan smile had Veronica wanting to wince all over again. “I could use something to keep the fingers moving and the eyes from blurring.”

“I think you need more than that.”

Enid sighed. “Mom woke—well, that half-awake drunken state people think is awake but isn't really awake and really they should just sleep through it—and it was bad there for a bit. She'd have been better off puking some of it up, but she didn't. And she started babbling about... it. So I'm a little less than efficient at the moment.”

Veronica wasn't sure what to do. They weren't exactly close, not friends to share physical comfort, and it was awkward, since she couldn't say much to that. “Is she asleep now?”

Enid nodded. “I tucked her back in after she'd finally stopped crying. I swear, that bastard is lucky he's dead. If he wasn't...”

If he wasn't, JD wouldn't be the only killer in the family, Veronica thought. “I'm sorry.”

“She was so strong when I was little, never once let me see her cry, raised me on her own without help from anyone, and I just thought she was so strong...” Enid shook her head. “She's a shell these days, and I hate it. I guess she was pretending before, and that... it saddens me and pisses me off at the same time. I swear, sometimes I don't know what to think, to feel...”

“Have you tried getting her counseling for the underlying cause? Because it sounds a bit like she's self-medicating to me,” Veronica said. Enid eyed her warily. “Yes, you're saying too much, and no, your brother does not get to be the only one who can use psychology or even just observation skills on people. If she's dealing with unresolved trauma by burying it, she'll just keep on drinking. Or so the shrinks told me before, though I wasn't drinking. I was... working too much and being too reckless on the job instead of facing things.”

“Well, I'm not surprised you thought dying would atone for your past,” Enid said. “And going out in a blaze of glory seems more appealing than slowly wasting away.”

Veronica managed a nod. “And that brings us back to JD.”

“The likelihood of my brother doing something stupid right now is very, very high,” Enid agreed. “And while I wish I could say I'd found this Walker thing so we could fix things, I can't. Also... it won't be the answer to everything.”

“No, it won't.”

“Though... I did finish an easier search before you got here,” Enid said. “I now know when Bud was last in Vegas.”

“And?”

“And it was after Jay supposedly died.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both sides of the issue try and narrow things down a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went back and forth with myself about the flashbacks. I thought about only doing the one, the less horrible one, and then I resigned myself to the fact that a monster from that time had to show his face, and I did the second part.

* * *

“Bud went back to Vegas after JD died?” Veronica asked, frowning. “How does that work? I thought JD was his prisoner then, and if he was, Bud couldn't have traveled—but, no, wait. JD also said he was heavily drugged at the time. Morphine and ketamine.”

“Damn.” Enid said. “Alcohol is bad enough, but that stuff? That's... well, there's a reason they show it on television so much. I mean, they use morphine as euthanasia all the time. And special K, that's not just a tranquilizer, that's also been used as a date rape drug, so... um... sorry, I'm finding that a little... unsettling.”

Veronica nodded. “It wasn't easy to hear for me, and I'm an agent, not his sister.”

Enid shivered, running her hands over her arms. “I know, as pissed as I am at my mom these days, I got the better end of the parent deal here, though it still sickens me to know that's the parent we have in common.”

“He's just a genetic donor, remember?”

“For me,” Enid disagreed, starting to pace as she spoke. “Okay, so... Um... You said you shot Jay, right? That's what happened when he supposedly blew himself up at your school.”

“Yes. I shot him more than once. One bullet cut off his finger, though supposedly Bud had them reattach it—”

“Supposedly nothing. Jay has all his fingers,” Enid said. “One does have a scar on it, and if he does too much writing, that's the one that hurts, even if it shouldn't be. It's part of why I noticed he was left-handed. Most of the time, you can't tell with him, but some things give it away.”

Veronica smiled, again impressed by the fierce loyalty Enid had for her brother. Not that it was all good—clearly that loyalty was not doing her any favors when it came to her mother—but she still found herself admiring it. “It's just hard for me to believe that the finger was there for them to do that, and it's also hard to understand why Bud would have them sew it back on.”

“Jay probably has an answer for that, though best guess... to screw with Jay's head,” Enid said, disgusted. “That, and it would have been a constant reminder, so...”

“Yeah.”

“Still, if Jay was shot and had gone through reattachment surgery, then he'd be in a hospital bed. Those drugs were given to him by IV, probably same with his food. Bud would have had some leeway for travel if he had Jay hooked up to all that,” Enid went on. “He'd have the fluids so he wouldn't starve or get dehydrated. He'd also be high enough on the other stuff that he'd never know Bud was gone.”

Veronica let out a breath. “JD did say there was a good part of that year missing.”

“And Bud was here. He stayed in a hotel on the strip, and before you go asking me how I know that, I was bored and hacked some of them just to see if I could.”

“Seriously?”

“I have a nefarious side, remember? I told Jay I needed something to keep it in check. Still, with the backdoor I had, I was able to access a lot of stuff, including files they had on certain guests. They have a list of ones that are not to be allowed back in, and Bud made it on there. He was never taken off as they never bothered to find out he was dead. It listed his last visit as six months after Jay 'died,' and whatever he did then got him banned.”

“They kept him on a list of banned guests without saying why?”

“Yes.”

“That makes no sense.”

Enid shrugged. “I don't know what their reasoning is. Maybe it's because of how old the infraction is. Maybe it's because they don't want it on file that they know he's guilty of the kinds of stuff we know he is. I mean, if he did something like... like what he did with my mom, then they should be under obligation to report it, not cover it up, but they might have just... banned him and done nothing about it. I mean, he had money, they didn't want a scandal, if the woman got paid to stay silent...”

Veronica winced. She'd been wrong. That made a horrible amount of sense, much as she didn't want it to be true. If they had covered something like that up, they shouldn't be in business. And yet... if they'd turned Bud in, would JD be alive now?

She refused to think about that. “Can you—”

“I'm still working on proving that particular theory before I go raining electronic chaos on them, but believe me, I've got it all planned for when I do,” Enid said, going back to her computer. “Let's see if we've found anything interesting about Walker and Vegas yet. I've been focusing on the early years after Bud died. I don't think he would have come back with security as high tech as it is now, so it has to be on the early part of those missing years.”

“And after he got himself sober.”

Enid looked up from her computer. “Wait. Jay was drunk after Bud died?”

“No, he was hooked on the drugs Bud gave him.”

“You could have mentioned that,” Enid grumbled. “If he had to sober up, he'd have taken months off, if not longer, since it's not like all addicts realize they have a problem at first and judging from my mother... well, the first time in rehab is rarely the charm.”

Veronica sighed. “I didn't do it to make things harder. I'd forgotten he told me that.”

“Well, I can probably narrow things down a bit, at least. Still, this is going to take a while.”

“Is that a hint?”

“Technically, you _did_ tell me if I proved those murders weren't my brother's doing that you'd buy me coffee for life.”

“Damn.”

* * *

_“Come on,” Bud said, lifting JD up into his arms, carrying him away from the bed. He was too weak to protest, to put up much of any fight. He'd managed to lose track of the sunrises and sunsets, and he didn't know how long it had been now. He knew he was weak and tired and barely able to move, though if he'd actually hit three weeks, he should be dead._

_He wasn't. Not for any lack of trying. He'd dragged himself to the window at least twice, but he hadn't managed to open it—he wasn't sure it did open—and he couldn't break it._

_Too damned weak._

_His father took him out to the main part of the suite, the part that doubled as the rest of an apartment might, with the kitchen and living room and even a fucking fireplace. He wanted to go to it. He was cold, seemed always to be cold these days, even if he had tried to adjust the thermostat before he passed out the last time._

_“Here we are,” Bud said, sitting him down at the dining table. JD reached out and grabbed hold of his chair as he started to slide out of it. “Stay there.”_

_JD snorted, not sure where he'd go since he wasn't sure he'd keep his eyes open another second. He lowered his head and was about to let go of the chair when his father set something in front of him._

_Food._

_Bastard._

_“I thought you might like this. It was your favorite when you were younger,” Bud said. JD tried to shake his head, tell him to screw himself because he couldn't move to eat and there was no way he'd keep anything solid down. “Here. I made it easy for you. Just use the straw.”_

_He glared at his father, but the idea of eating something was a bit hard to resist. Even if he wanted to die at this point, he'd been trying to make it on his terms._

_Still, he could just starve, and while it hadn't been pleasant so far, he was already half there, wasn't he?_

_“Or I can hold your mouth open and shove it in you. Your choice.”_

_JD opted for the straw, slurping down the familiar broth of a soup that any kid knew—chicken noodle was such a staple of childhood, though he'd never liked it, no matter what his father thought. He ate it because his mother said it would help when he felt sick, as he did now._

_“That's better,” Bud said. “You'll feel better after you've finished that.”_

_JD didn't, but he didn't expect to. He closed his eyes, ready to fall asleep again. He was aware of his father picking him up again, but he didn't fight it._

_Couldn't._

* * *

_A few meals of broth later, and JD was feeling almost clear headed again, awake enough to be even more miserable. He wasn't strong enough to do much on his own yet, but his father wouldn't let him get away with sleeping for long periods and this new farce was worse than the last one, since now he was free of the locked room for hours, spending most of his time in the common area of the suite instead._

_He was closer to freedom, and so damned far away from it at the same time._

_He forced himself through the meals, though, knowing he could get stronger and get out of here if he tried, and since his father was busy with some new business project—he was getting all worked up and giddy about blowing something up—and with a man like Bud giddy was all sorts of fucking wrong, but his father was, and it scared the shit out of JD even as it gave him a break from the torture his father had been using before._

_He knew Bud won that round, and he accepted it, but at least it was over, and that was all he could hope for, since he didn't want that threat to ever be real._

_When Bud prodded him out to dinner again, JD was pleased to see it wasn't soup this time—at least not chicken soup—and he sat down to eat with a smile, actually enjoying the vegetables and meat in it as opposed to choking down the mush and hoping that the nausea was just because he'd been without food for so long._

_“You're in a good mood,” Bud said, and JD shrugged. “I suppose you're up to having company, then. Good thing, too, as we have some.”_

_JD frowned, not sure how he'd missed that someone else was in the room, but when he looked over at the couch, there he was. The guy was younger than Bud, and he dressed like he was some kind of businessman or banker, with a bit of a resemblance to Jack Coleman on Dynasty._

_“Jason, say hello to Mr. Eberhard. Guy, this is my son, Jason.”_

_JD shook his head. Either he was dreaming or someone was trying to screw with his head again. “That name sounds made up. Guy Eberhard? Who the fuck would name their kid that?”_

_The other man laughed. He rose, drink in hand, and started across the room, coming toward the table. He took a sip when he stopped, smiling and speaking with just a slight accent. “I'm not sure my parents saw the potential humor other children would see in it, I suppose. I find it amusing myself. As are you.”_

_JD snorted, wishing he felt up to walking away, because he felt like flipping the guy off and leaving. He wasn't sure he'd make it very far even if he'd walked into the room on his own earlier. “Yeah, sure. You spend your time blowing shit up, too?”_

_“Oh, no. I've dabbled in real estate, it's true, but my real passion lies in more artistic pursuits, even when it comes to business,” Eberhard said, taking another sip of his drink. “Your father left out your sense of humor when he spoke of you. A true pity.”_

_“I don't think he thinks I'm that funny,” JD told him, forcing himself up from the table. “Though he does like his games.”_

_“That he does,” Eberhard agreed. “And he wins far too often, more's the pity. Though at least he wasn't exaggerating about your beauty.”_

_JD tensed. “What?”_

_Eberhard looked him over in a way that made JD think he was going to lose his meal right here and now. “The photographs don't do you justice. I told him he'd get more value from wagering you if he brought you by so we could see you in person, but he was being stubborn about it. Having seen you, though, I rather curse his luck. I'd like to have won at least once by now.”_

_JD backed away from him, bumping into his father, who held him in place with a hand on each shoulder. This was his father's sick idea of a joke. It had to be. The name was too fake to be real, and while that sicko was looking at him like he was naked, that was just part of the game._

_Wasn't it?_

_“I don't suppose we could make a separate deal,” Eberhard said, looking at Bud that time. “I'm sure we could make one that was mutually beneficial. I'd be willing to pay top dollar.”_

_“No,” JD whispered, trying to pull away from his father's hold._

_“Oh, please, Jason. It's not like you're a virgin,” Bud said in his ear, and JD hung his head in shame, shuddering. He raised his voice as he spoke to Eberhard. “We've discussed this already. He's not for sale.”_

_“You bet me, you asshole,” JD said, elbowing his father, trying to break free of his grip. Bud's hand moved up around his neck._

_“Would you rather you were a whore?”_

* * *

JD woke, stumbling toward the bathroom and vomiting, wanting to blame it all on the amount of alcohol he'd had the day before and knowing he was lying to himself if he did. It was the memories, the ones he'd tried hard to bury and forget forever. He'd done fine in avoiding them when he was working as a fake psychic—with a few exceptions where the cases came too close to the past, times when he really did rethink his no killing stance, though for the most part, he'd managed to rein in his homicidal side and only left them a bit maimed.

Okay, a lot maimed, but even that was better than what they'd done and less than they deserved.

He forced himself up from the floor, washing his face and hands and trying to pull himself together. Vegas should not have this much hold on him any more, no matter who was there. Enid was safe, just living with a woman who was destroying her own life.

His hand brushed the newest scar, and he looked down at it. Richards was one hell of a bastard, ranking right up there with Bud Dean even if he'd never abused his son physically. Still, that knife wound wasn't enough to explain this. Even shooting that kid wasn't enough. Neither of those things tied back to the memories that were coming up, and while he knew that they didn't always connect, it didn't seem right that he'd bring all of Vegas back over something that should pull from other places.

And even if he had, it shouldn't be this bad.

JD hadn't cracked like this since... well, since Vegas. Since that Walker thing went to hell.

He knew he didn't have a job, but it wasn't like the fake psychic thing had been constant. They barely made ends meet there, since he wasn't willing to milk the helpless masses out of everything they had. He only took cases that mattered, ones where he could actually do something that changed things instead of lie and at best provide false hope. At worst, it was outright theft, and while he was a lot of things, JD had never been a thief.

He wasn't sure why that was a point of pride with him, but it was.

He leaned over the sink. Something had brought this on. Something was dragging memories back to the forefront, and he couldn't keep running from them. That had never worked before, and it wouldn't now. He knew that.

If he could figure out what was underneath the resurgence, the trigger, he could stop it, put things at rest again, and when he did, he wouldn't need to drown in a bottle. 

So he would analyze this like anything else. He'd never reacted this strongly to using Bud's money, even if he tried not to and preferred it behind its layers of shell companies where he'd already reestablished it.

Hell, he'd done that before showing up to say goodbye to Enid and found Veronica still with her.

No, it wasn't that. It wasn't about taking apart the business of Judas Dane or being without one. Those things didn't help, neither did being wounded or believing he'd killed someone, but he felt like it had to be more, and his instincts on this sort of thing weren't usually wrong.

He just had to think, which would be easier if he wasn't hungover.

It wasn't Reno. Those casinos weren't the same, and the symptoms started before he went there. He'd actually thought he could go closer to Vegas before that first nightmare.

He forced himself away from the sink. That nightmare. That was the connection, wasn't it? Something that he did or saw that day was the initial trigger, and everything to do with Enid or gambling had just fed this thing until it grew into the monster it was now.

What the hell had he done that day?

And why didn't he remember it?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JD's investigation has yet another rocky start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one ended up being mostly flashbacks. I'd written a version of it the first time around that had Enid and Veronica interrupted instead of where the scene ends, but I wanted more of the actual case shown before Enid found any articles about it. And yes, I know, I could have just written the whole case out in one chapter, but I was planning on some revelations coming later, so I went with the flashback of what set JD off instead of where the chapter originally went.
> 
> Hopefully that's better. I don't know. My day was ruined by yet another migraine and my sleep schedule's all screwed up so I'm not sure of much.

* * *

_“Are you sure about this, Jimmy?”_

_He forced a smile. If this idiot called him Jimmy one more time, he wouldn't be. He might even snap and hit her, because he wanted to hit her more than he'd ever wanted to hit Veronica, and she was trying to stop him from blowing up a school—she'd let him think she was dead and she'd shot him—and he still wanted to hit this girl more._

_Of course, he'd picked her on purpose because she was this stupid, so he only had himself to blame for that._

_“Yes, dear, I'm sure,” he told her, vaguely aware he didn't even remember her name, but then he didn't need her name. All she was here to do was roll the damned dice, since he refused to do it._

“Would you rather be a whore?” Bud asked, and JD could see the other man smiling, fully approving of that idea. If JD told him know to spite him, Bud would hand him over to that bastard, laughing the entire time. JD couldn't let that happen. He was too weak to fight, but he wasn't doing that. He was not letting that man touch him. “At least when you're a prize, they have to earn it.”

“They're not earning anything,” JD said, still sickened by all of this. “It's dumb luck. That's it.”

“That's all that stands between you and him,” his father agreed, patting JD's cheek. “Such a funny thought, isn't it?”

“The nature of a gamble, I suppose,” Eberhard said, smiling. “Chasing that rush, running that risk. Addictive, isn't it? And some prizes are just begging to be won.”

_A squeal brought JD back to the casino, and whatever her name was, she was bouncing up and down next to him, clapping her hands together. “Look, sweetie. I won. Isn't that great? I won. I never win anything, but I won. Look. I won.”_

_He forced a smile for her, patting her on the head like he might some yippy dog. He missed Veronica. Hell, even Duke would have been preferable to this._

_Of course, they both thought he was dead and had to go on believing that, so he wasn't about to ask them for help. He was never going back to Ohio._

_He'd said that about Vegas, but he was here, and he was a fool, but he'd already made the deal with himself—if no one showed within the hour, he was walking away from all of this. He could say now that he tried._

_Somehow, that seemed necessary, even if he knew it was a big mistake._

_“Baby, I won again,” she said, and he smiled again, wondering how much of his irritation showed to anyone not watching her. Then again, it was hard not to watch her. Her dress was impossibly low cut up front, and it barely covered her ass, so every time she leaned over to roll the dice, people were getting a show._

_He hadn't said anything because he wanted her to be the center of attention. He had decided if he was a millionaire, he was a bored one, one that found even this kind of gambling boring and in need of a real risk._

_She threw the dice again, doubling her winnings. “I'm so good at this.”_

_“Yes, you are,” he muttered. “You keep playing. I'm going to go get a drink.”_

_“Okay, sweetums,” she said, and JD swore he was going to kill her. He needed that drink, now, and he wasn't about to let some waitress give him one so he'd have to watch that display. It was stupid, and he wanted no part of it._

_He sat down on the bar stool, ordering his drink and forking over his id in annoyance. He had given himself one that showed him to be legal to drink, even if he wasn't quite there yet, but he had the feeling he'd end up carded for life._

_“You did not seem pleased to be winning,” a man said, taking the stool next to him. “You do not like money?”_

_“Money I've got,” JD said, lifting his drink. “What I don't have is a cure for boredom.”_

_“Oh, my friend, I think we can find you that.”_

* * *

_“Let me get this straight,” JD said, allowing a slight slur to his words since he was on his third drink and figured he needed to show some signs that it was affecting him—he had a high tolerance to stuff a lot more powerful than this, though, and he wasn't even feeling a mild buzz yet. “You think I should look into real estate? This is your solution to my boredom? You sound like my father suggesting I'd like a position in his company. About the only good part of that would be the secretary, and she'd bore me within minutes.”_

_Unless she was Veronica. Veronica had never bored him, but these other girls... none of them had her strength or her mind. He missed that about her, and he had a crazy urge to go see her._

_He wouldn't. He also wouldn't call. Jason Dean was dead, and he couldn't go back._

_“This isn't the sort of real estate deal you find every day.”_

_“Real estate deals are real estate deals,” JD said, reaching for a cigarette. He lit it up and took a drag, almost gagging on it. It tasted like ash again, and it shouldn't. This wasn't the same brand, and it had been a while since he last tried one. He wasn't drinking the same thing._

_Why the hell couldn't he enjoy his cigarette?_

_He stubbed it out. “If you'll excuse me. I have to go collect my... friend.”_

_“Relax. She's only down a grand. She can win it back for you.”_

_“I don't care about the money. I'm done here. Time to try a different joint. I hear there's plenty of them on the strip. I'll let her cash out anything's she's got and I'm done with her,” JD said, finishing his glass and stepping back from the bar._

_“I think if you looked at the scope of the project we had in mind and its benefits, you'd think differently. This is a gamble, of course, but it's the kind where lives get changed. Have you ever seen the impact of a housing development on the area around it?”_

_“What, in property values?” JD snorted. “Those don't mean a damn thing except to accountants, and I am not an accountant.”_

_“I'm not talking about taking an already valuable piece of land and turning it into something double its worth. I'm talking about taking something without any value and giving it ten times its worth,” the man said, and that had JD frowning. Was this the same line of bull they fed everyone? Or was he just unlucky?_

_“That sounds like a con,” JD said. “Way too good to be true.”_

_“Only it isn't. Come with me. Let me prove it to you.”_

_Every instinct JD had screamed at him that this was a bad idea, that he should leave now, while he still had the chance. He knew that, but he also knew this was his best shot at finding out what they'd gotten Walker into—and it seemed like a straight up con to him, so while Walker was an idiot, JD was a bit curious how they'd managed to make him think it was real._

_“Come,” the other man said. “I've got something to show you.”_

_“And is this the part where the rich, drunk kid loses his wallet? I'll pass, thank you,” JD told him, giving him a thin smile. He wasn't that stupid. He refused to go up to any of those rooms. He knew it wasn't the same as when his father dragged him here, but he wouldn't let himself get trapped again._

_“I have no need of petty theft.”_

_“Still a no. I'm not interested in creepers, either,” JD said, turning to look for the girl he'd come in with, half-hoping she'd found someone else to go home with, even if she had Walker's money and his room key._

_“A public place, then.”_

_“You sound a bit desperate.”_

_“Maybe a little. We do have a tight schedule to work from, but if you'd rather not be part of something great, you can ignore everything you heard tonight. If not, meet me in the dining room in the morning.”_

_JD took that for what it was, nodding and leaving without ever finding the girl._

_He didn't care what Walker said. He wasn't sleeping in any casino hotel again. Ever._

* * *

“You owe me,” Enid insisted, standing back on the sidewalk next to Veronica's rental. She looked younger than before, though her childish words weren't helping. “You owe me, so you have to do this.”

“I believe our deal was for coffee, not for me to use my former status as an FBI agent to threaten a liquor store,” Veronica said, fighting to stay calm as she said that. She wanted to laugh, if she was honest about it, because Enid's whole idea was insane, and yet at the same time, it was sad and a bit tragic, and while Veronica had yet to met Enid's mother, she was quickly losing all respect for her. “We are not going back there.”

“Someone should. They shouldn't have a license,” Enid insisted, looking like she might just take the rental if her hands weren't full of coffee. “What they're doing is criminal, and I know it's them.”

“Enid,” Veronica began, wincing as she did, struggling to find the right response. She crossed over and put a hand on Enid's back, nudging her up the driveway toward the house. “If you hacked their surveillance cameras—”

“I did, and I'm going to make their coolers overheat. Bastards. They can't keep selling to her. It's obvious she's sick, and they shouldn't do it. I even offered to pay them not to do it, and they wouldn't take my money, but they take hers. I don't even know where she's getting it from, and it's wrong.”

“I may be willing to contact someone I know in the ATF if you can restrain your nefarious impulses to the search at hand,” Veronica told her, gesturing for Enid to open the door or at least tell her where the keys were. “We need to find out what happened to your brother.”

Enid grimaced, shifting her coffees in her arms and using her key to unlock it. She pushed it open and stepped inside. “I'm almost afraid to know, if I'm honest. Not much gets to Jay. He can look at dead bodies and crime scenes and just... detach himself from it, like it's not a big deal. And I know you think that's just because he's a sociopath, but it isn't. He's got too much heart in him to be a sociopath. He's just tried to bury it so deep even he can't see it because he's been hurt too much.”

“You're not an expert on him, you know, brother or not.”

Enid rolled her eyes, taking her coffees over to the desk. “And you still judge him more on who he was than who he is. I know he did crazy terrible things when he was with you, but doesn't the fact that he was being abused give him some leeway as not in his right mind? Who knows if he would have made other choices if Bud wasn't a complete dick? Not you. Not me. Not even him, for all he thinks he wouldn't have, but if he'd... I don't know, been dumped on my mom because Bud thought saddling her with two of his kids was fair, would he have hurt anyone? I like to think he wouldn't have.”

Veronica followed her inside. “I don't know. There's some that say that people are just born that way and—”

“We all have the potential for good and evil. We are human with the same basic flaws and emotions. If we're around people who bring out the darker sides to our personality, our negative emotions, over and over again, that becomes what we know and who we are. You reflect the qualities you know and are trained to show.”

Veronica shut the door behind her. “Did he tell you that or was it in one of his books?”

“Um... It's translated from him because he tends toward both highly poetic and highly profane wording when he gets philosophical and tries to explain stuff from psychology books. It mostly goes over my head, but then I think he's afraid if I know all that stuff, too, he doesn't have a purpose. And he really, really needs a purpose.”

“I almost told you to give him one,” Veronica said. “All those times you texted me worried about him, I thought about telling you to find him a case to work and get him back on track.”

“I would have, if I could have found him, but until he slipped up and contacted me, I couldn't, so that doesn't work,” Enid said, dropping her purse on the floor and sitting down in front of her computer again. “Though I did almost tell you the same thing. To find him a purpose.”

“I don't work for the FBI anymore.”

Enid snorted. “You know you don't need to work for them to be his purpose. Whatever the two of you used to be once... it's still there underneath it all.”

Veronica shook her head. “We're not those people anymore.”

“You know what makes love last? The fact that the feeling doesn't die when you do change. It usually takes work, too, but my grandparents—good people, gone now, probably part of Mom's downward spiral—they had a lasting marriage of well over seventy years and six kids by the time they kicked the bucket. My mom was their youngest,” Enid said. Veronica got the sense she might just be the only one left now, too, but Enid didn't say that. “And people would go around asking them what their secret was, and Grandpa would always make some inappropriate joke about sex or her boobs or something, and Grandma would sigh and say it took patience and a lot of work... and that he was hung like a horse. And they'd both laugh like idiots and hold hands...”

“Sounds beautiful.”

“They were. They went within minutes of each other, too,” Enid said, turning back to her computer. “Let's see. News articles. Oh, please, you silly newspaper. You're only still in existence because you have an online site, and you expect me to pay to read your archives?”

“Do you talk to every site you hack or just when you have an audience?”

“Um...” Enid flushed, looking like she'd really rather not answer that. She turned back to her screen and swore. Loudly. “Please tell me that was _not_ it. Please.”

Veronica looked at the headline and winced. “I don't think I can.”

* * *

_He had forgotten what it felt like to ride._

_Motorcycles weren't something he let Enid see, so that particular possession was kept in storage and under an alias she didn't know about. He preferred to have some secrets, some ways out, that no one but him knew about._

_He knew he was paranoid, but it had helped, and he'd already transferred his money and holdings out of all the companies and aliases she knew to others she had no idea about, and his car was locked away, stored for now._

_The Indian was like freedom. Just as vintage—more so, really—as his car, he'd picked it up in a poor state years ago, tried his hand at restoring it and failed for the most part, and then had the work finished by a real expert._

_It had been worth it, and all it really took was a bit of the interest off of Bud's money, so it wasn't too expensive, all things considered. He might not want to use a cent of that money, but considering the hell he'd been through, sometimes he liked to indulge himself._

_He pulled up to the curb, stopping the bike, and parking it beside the street. He could do with a bit of food and a stretch of his legs, and this seemed as good a town for that as any._

_“That's a real fine machine,” an older man said, smiling at the bike. “Mighty fine indeed.”_

_JD nodded, reaching up to comb through his windblown hair, settling it a bit as he looked around the street. “It is.”_

_“Real beauty. Fifty-six?”_

_“Fifty-two,” JD corrected. He'd forgotten what a nuisance it was when people got interested in his collector items. He didn't want to talk to anyone, and he didn't need people asking a lot of questions._

_“Jason Dean had one of these.”_

_He tensed. “What?”_

_“Jason Dean. He had one of these just like this. Same colors, I think. They always talk about him with a Triumph or people assume he had a Harley, but no, it was an Indian. Also a fifty-two. You don't suppose it's the same one, do you? Shame about what happened to him, isn't it? Dying in a car crash just when he hit it big.”_

_JD almost wanted to smack the man, even though he couldn't have known how much that mistake would have affected JD, not realized how it upsetting it would be to hear that name again, to think someone had recognized him. “You mean James Dean.”_

_“That's what I said.”_

_“No, it's not,” JD said, walking away. He turned to the left, going for the bar next to the restaurant he'd planned on eating in. He went inside, tried not to gag on the stale cigarette smell and the memories it tried to drag up for him._

_He crossed over to the bar, taking a seat on the first open stool. The bartender looked up from cleaning a glass, waiting._

_“Whiskey,” he said, noting the bottle of Jack Daniels on the shelf._

_The other man nodded, setting down the glass. He poured JD a shot and placed it in front of him. He took it, finished it as a straight shot, and motioned for another. He did the same with the second glass and then frowned as the newspaper on the bar caught the corner of his eye. He picked it up and stared in disbelief._

_“Leave the bottle,” he told the bartender, forcing himself to read the whole article again and willing it to change to something, anything else as he did._

_It didn't._

_It was real._

_Damn it._


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More details come about the case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to include more of JD's side of the case before the headlines and what Enid found, since it was going to spoil some parts of it, but not enough yet that I can't have later reveals, I don't think.
> 
> And really, part of this was overdue.

* * *

_“This looks like a movie,” JD observed, looking over the pictures. “Or faked somehow. This can't be the same land. That's a fucking desert, not a golf course. And yes, I know they have sand traps on golf courses. Don't change the subject. Why—how—does this lawn look like it is part of a royal garden when it's in the middle of a dead zone in Nevada?”_

_“Terraforming.”_

_JD snorted, shoving the pictures at him. God, Merrin was a fool to think he'd fall for that. “What, you think rich kids have never seen a bit of science fiction? I know what that is, and I don't buy it for a minute. We can't do that.”_

_“They can't. I can. We can. We've got a very valuable technology here, and once we finish building, we can unveil it to the world.”_

_“I don't believe you.”_

_Merrin smiled. “No, I suppose you wouldn't. You don't strike me as someone who trusts easily, despite the way you let that girl throw away your money.”_

_“That's because it's just money,” JD said. He didn't care about money. He'd had it, he supposed, in some sense, all his life. Bud wasn't the kind of millionaire that made headlines, but his business worked all over the country and somehow managed to make a profit despite all that and Bud's other habits, like the way he was here in Vegas._

_JD refused to think about that. This was a good con, he could see it was, and he knew why Walker's husband wanted to believe in it. The idea of making inhospitable areas hospitable was not just favored for science fiction. He'd known of a few companies trying to do legit research into the idea. His father had scoffed at them, offering to make new places for them to work, since he liked blowing things up. He would have laid to waste whole towns if he could have._

_“Well, unfortunately for us, we have to care about money,” Merrin said. “Which is why we could have a mutually beneficial relationship, and believe me, once you see this, you won't be bored. The applications of it boggle your mind and make you think of buying all sorts of crazy real estate.”_

_Merrin was a bit too focused to be a good con man, JD decided, and he leaned back in the booth, struck by the sudden realization that Merrin believed. He wasn't throwing out a line—he actually thought all of this was real. They got him to reel in the marks first because he was genuine, so genuine he'd been fooled himself._

_Damn. They were good._

_So who was behind Merrin, then?_

_The obvious answer, of course, was whoever had killed Walker's husband. Merrin was too clean, too innocent, to be the killer. Merrin was a front, a pansy, the kind of person meant to take a fall if absolutely necessary, but his true value was in his devotion, in being so thoroughly deceived he fooled others as well._

_Merrin being a front posed new problems. Who knew how long it would take before JD met anyone else involved, let alone how long it would take him to find anyone who knew the real score? He couldn't afford to be stuck here for any kind of long term._

_“How many others are involved in this?”_

_“I can't tell you all our investors, of course, but there's five on the science end, working their miracles. I've met them all. They're brilliant, just brilliant.”_

_“And?”_

_“And there are others you can meet as well if you decide you want to be a part of things,” Merrin said. “You have to understand. With as revolutionary as this technology is, we can't just let you have everyone's name and address, you understand. We have to protect it. Word has gotten out before, and it was not good for anyone.”_

_“Did they end up dead?” JD asked, maybe a little too pointedly._

_“No, of course not. People haven't killed over this. Don't be so paranoid. It's just... we had to move our lab and some research was almost lost, and it was almost a disaster.”_

_“It's a con.”_

_“No. Once you see it for yourself, you'll understand.”_

_JD grimaced. That bothered him. “You mean when you blindfold me and drive me out into the middle of the desert somewhere with nothing more than your word that you're not going to kill me and what I'll see will be worth it?”_

_“Well... yes,” Merrin said, fidgeting. “It really is worth seeing, though. I can't prove it to you any other way.”_

_“Yeah, but I'm paranoid, remember?” JD said, getting ready to leave. “I don't mind throwing my money at you, but going in blind? Never gonna happen.”_

_“I understand,” Merrin said. “Though... perhaps there may be some other way.”_

_“I doubt it.”_

_“Let me see what I can do. Don't leave Vegas. We'll work something out.”_

* * *

_“I tried your room,” Merrin said, almost stumbling out of his booth. “I didn't get an answer, and I was worried you'd already left.”_

_JD should have, but he hadn't. Something about this case, despite all the warning bells going off in his head, made him think that he had to stay. He couldn't put a finger on what it was, just felt a strong sense about it. Something had pulled him back to Vegas, and he needed to know what it was. Leaving now didn't answer any questions, not his and not Mrs. Walker's._

_He wasn't going to tell Merrin that, nor was he going to say that he was sleeping off the strip. He didn't need them knowing where he really was._

_“I thought about it.”_

_“I'm glad you didn't,” Merrin said. “I was able to arrange a meeting with one of our lead scientists. He's willing to tell you all about the project.”_

_While that seemed like a good idea, in theory, JD had no interest in being fed a lot of scientific mumbojumbo. He wasn't a complete idiot, for all he'd never finished school and had to consider himself for the most part self-educated since even when he was going to school he didn't attend classes for long. Still, he wouldn't be able to find the flaws in the science they were planning on feeding him._

_That probably worked on their other marks, including Walker._

_JD knew he should make the effort, make them believe that he was buying their shit, but he preferred being a hard sell. “I'm no scientist. That doesn't help me any.”_

_“You want proof.”_

_“Yes, proof I can understand, not a bunch of science terms that have no meaning to me. The only science I ever cared about was chemistry, and only with certain ladies,” JD said, smiling as if recalling a good memory. Veronica's image surfaced instead, and he had to bury down that and a lot of feelings instead._

_“I would have hoped that you'd at least hear him out.”_

_“I thought I explained to you that I was looking for something to end the boredom. Does listening to some long, drawn out speech about something scientific really sound like fun to you?” JD asked, shaking his head. “It sure as hell doesn't to me. You're going to have to do a lot better than that, Mr. Merrin.”_

_“But—”_

_“There is a very attractive dancer over there I want to meet,” JD said, rising. He gave Merrin a condescending smile before crossing the room toward the first woman he could find that even vaguely looked like a dancer. He should have made sure he saw one in costume first, but he'd wanted to get away from Merrin._

_Someone bumped into him, and he stopped, frowning at a girl much too young for the casino. “Watch where you're going, kid.”_

_“Like you're old enough to be in this place,” she muttered, rolling her eyes at him. “And you watch it. You can drool over someone else's blackjack table. Go away.”_

_A woman rushed up, taking hold of the girl's shoulders. “I am so sorry, sir. My daughter seems to think every man in the casino—well, never mind that. You apologize now. That was very rude.”_

_“No. He shouldn't even be in here. He's not old enough to gamble.”_

_“Maybe you should be a cop,” JD told her, almost amused. “You want to card me?”_

_“Please don't encourage her,” the dealer said, shaking her head. He actually wanted to, because that would be fun, unlike this job, and the girl had spirit, reminding him a bit of Veronica. Still, before he could do much else, the woman had ushered her daughter away._

_“Mr. Dedman,” Merrin said, rushing up to him. “My associates and I would like to take you to our site.”_

_“I told you. I'm not doing the blindfolded driven by strangers routine.”_

_“The blindfold will not be necessary.”_

_That was too damned easy. JD didn't like this, either, but he was having a hard time finding a way to object. “Really? And what did I do to earn that?”_

_“Well, there is a bit of a cost,” Merrin began. “I'm afraid we could use... a bit of an investment. And if you are willing to provide it, we'll wave some of the usual precautions.”_

_“You really are desperate.”_

_“Yes, I suppose we are.”_

* * *

_Missing Husband's Body Unearths Crypts and Conspiracies._

The language was almost poetic, if way over the top and better off in one of the supermarket tabloids instead of a legitimate news agency. Veronica wouldn't have thought much of it if the smaller tag line didn't have the name they were looking for—Walker—and some insight into just how horrible this thing really was.

_Gabriel Walker's remains only one of many found in secret burial ground with possible ties to organized crime._

The mob. It fit, Veronica supposed, since this was Vegas, though she had a hard time believing that JD would have involved himself in anything mob connected. The first paragraph of the actual article stated that Walker's wife was the daughter of a senator, and Veronica would have thought the man would have been smarter than that, but even people with money and power were stupid.

“How many articles did you find?”

“Dozens,” Enid said, looking pale like she had when she'd just been shot. Her hand shook a little as she moved it back to the keyboard, and Veronica watched her with concern.

She didn't think more than one was really necessary to understand the reaction this thing pulled from JD. She didn't want the official case file from it, even if she could have called in a few favors and gotten it. No, she didn't want to see it.

JD had _lived_ it.

He was a part of it, and while Veronica didn't know the exact role he'd played, she knew, looking at that damned headline, that this was the case that had done so much damage to him. She knew JD wasn't involved with the mob, but the organized crime ties hadn't been proven, either, and Veronica didn't think they ever would be.

This wasn't about the mob. She could tell that much after reading the whole article.

“How many people died?” Veronica asked, looking at Enid. “That article only says they'd uncovered 'bodies.' No count given, just bodies.”

“You had to pick that for me to answer, didn't you?” Enid grumbled, sorting through the articles until she brought up one with an actual number. “They... um... thirteen bodies, it says, including that man Walker.”

“Damn it.”

“I'll see if I can find names for any of the others,” Enid said, her fingers making short work of the search, pulling up more articles, though from what Veronica could see, only Walker seemed to get any real coverage. The rest remained nameless, faceless. “This is irritating.”

“I can always try using an official contact to get them,” Veronica said. She took out her phone and was about to make a call when it started ringing on its own. She frowned, hating the thing for not giving her the option to decline it for no good reason. She sighed and answered it. “Heather, this really isn't a good time.”

“Is that the explanation you're going to give me instead of meeting me at the restaurant like we agreed?” Duke demanded. “You know I am a very busy woman, and I don't make plans lightly. I have obligations and a business to run. If you're not going to show up, at least do me the decency of letting me know.”

Veronica winced. She'd forgotten she had plans. Her trip to Reno had been pretty spur of the moment, and she'd gone to Vegas without letting anyone know. “I'm sorry. Things are a bit crazy here, and I won't be back for a while—”

“Won't be back? Where the hell did you go? Are you back at the FBI again? Is this a case?”

“No, I'm in Vegas. With Enid. It was an emergency,” Veronica said. “And that's all I can tell you. I need to let you go now.”

“Vegas? You had better not be eloping on me, Veronica.”

“Goodbye, Heather,” Veronica said, hanging up. She shook her head as she did, about to tell Enid just what a pain in the ass she was when she saw the look on her face. “What now?”

“I found a partial list of the victims,” she said. “The reason more of them aren't named... they were minors when they died, and the press wasn't allowed to publish their names.”

“Shit.”

* * *

“I want something more than coffee,” Enid said, wanting to shut her laptop and force all of those images away from her eyes. She couldn't take another article. She wouldn't read more, though if this was what Jay got mixed up in somehow, it explained a lot.

“Your mother probably has something stashed here.”

Enid looked over at Veronica. “Gee, thank you. Would you like to think about that for a minute and realize why it was a cruel, bitchy thing to say, or should I call your friend back and tell her you're here to elope?”

“I'm sorry,” Veronica said, putting a hand to her head and taking the other chair. “I'm just... trying to process what we know and every time I attempt to put it together, it throws me off again. Kids. Some of those bodies were kids. The article said it was about a real estate swindle, but how is that possible when there were dead kids there?”

“I don't know.”

“And they want to blame the mob, but the mob isn't into killing kids, either. They just seem to be the most likely suspects when mass graves pop up in America. We don't have war crimes or ethnic cleansing here—”

“That anyone admits to,” Enid said, unable to believe what she was hearing. “You know the rumors about Gitmo, right? Not that I think terrorists should be able to blow up whoever they please, but they say plenty of shit went down there that violated human rights laws. And please don't ever say ethnic cleansing that to someone who grew up black in Jim Crow south, okay? Our old neighbor, she'd tell you that her hometown tried it. Tried to make it all white and no colored. She lost her whole family.”

“I was going to say 'not in the same sense,' but you didn't let me finish,” Veronica said. She rubbed her head again. “America sees mass graves differently. That was all I meant. I might have said it the wrong way, but I wasn't trying to be a jerk. I had a whole thing about wiping out Native Americans I was about to use, but sure, label me a racist and continue to ruin my life with this wedding crap. It's fine. I probably deserve it.”

Enid rose. “Let's just admit that we're both on edge right now, okay? The idea of Jay being mixed up in this somehow is very unsettling, and I keep expecting you to say something about him being a part of the killings—”

“I was trying very hard not to think that, thank you very much.”

“I don't believe Jay would do that. And if you'd ever seen him when one of our cases involved kids, you'd know that. He... He has this thing about people who can't fight back. Probably because he was abused himself, but when it's kids or someone who can't defend themselves for any reason... he hates it. He will do everything he can to help them, even if he shouldn't. And he'll make sure that whoever hurts them really pays. He hasn't killed them, but I bet most of them wish they were dead over what he managed to pull off against them.”

Veronica nodded. “I can see that. The people he killed—we killed—were all bullies. Heather Chandler had just humiliated Martha with my help, and she threatened to ruin me. Ram and Kurt... well, they bullied plenty of people, and Ram forced Heather McNamara to have sex with him. Kurt wanted me to do the same, but he was so drunk he didn't manage to do more than fall on his face. Then he lied about it and said we had a threesome. Sometimes I'm not even sorry they're gone.”

“Doesn't sound like they were any great loss,” Enid agreed. She took a breath and let it out. “I think you'd better call your contact, see if you can get the official case because the newspapers aren't going to cut it.”

“What, you can't hack the FBI for that?” Veronica teased, and Enid glared at her before reaching for her laptop. Veronica held up a hand. “I'm kidding. Do not hack the FBI. I can get the file another way.”

Enid snorted. Hers would be faster. The FBI still had no idea she'd breached them, twice, and she could still use that particular in to get what she needed in a hurry. She had just started to work on it when she heard the door open. 

She was going to kill her mother. 

“Mom, I swear, if you bought more alcohol, I'm going to dump it out and then I will kill—Oh, my god. I don't believe this.”

Judging from the way her mouth hung open, Veronica didn't, either. It didn't make sense, but standing there, in Enid's now open doorway, looking like a true mess, was her brother.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JD makes progress on his case and disrupts the work of Enid and Veronica.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote the part where JD showed up before now, but I wanted to delay it again for the case. It seemed better not to rush that too much, and some of it was going to be spoiled by the news articles and the case files that Veronica was going to get, so he kind of had to do more remembering and then he had such good timing showing up in person, lol.

* * *

_He had no problem throwing Walker's money at them. He still didn't trust them, though, and that was were the problem lay. How did he go with them anywhere to see this secret project, their faked masterpiece to con the masses, knowing that he could very well not be coming back from it? Sure, Walker had lived to tell his wife he was involved with these people, but that didn't mean that JD would._

_As far as they knew, James Dedman had no family. He was rich after inheriting his fortune at a relatively young age, and he was bored with no real ties anywhere as he'd sold his father's company and other assets to travel as he pleased._

_That was the story he'd given the bimbo, and he was sure she'd passed it along, plus what little documentation he had supported it, for now._

_So he had no ties, no one to miss him, and if he gave them enough money, they'd probably just kill him on this trip no one knew he was making._

_Good plan. Very good plan._

_JD needed to find a way to keep himself as someone more valuable alive than dead, even if he did see too much, but he wasn't sure what that was, since even in their desperation for money, they could always find other sources._

_“Have you made your decision?” Merrin asked, looking nervous again. “If you aren't going to come, I should probably let them know. It's not easy to arrange a visit like this.”_

_JD looked up, doing his best to look distracted. “What?”_

_“I said I should let them know if we're going or not. Is something wrong?”_

_“Not really. I just... I heard from my lawyer they're challenging my father's will, and it's a pain in the ass,” JD said, watching Merrin frown. Oh, the man so wanted to ask about his money, didn't he? “Just a hassle. Nothing to worry about.”_

_“Nothing to worry about? Why would they challenge the will if it was nothing?”_

_“Supposedly my father couldn't keep it in his pants and went and knocked up some woman who thinks my so-called half-sister is entitled to half my father's assets as the idiot only said it went to his children.” JD shook his head. “It's stupid. Even if she is his, she's not getting a cent.”_

_“But... doesn't that mean you don't have—won't they freeze your money if they—”_

_“Oh, trust you to worry about my money,” JD said, flashing him a derisive smile. “No, my greedy friend, only the money from my father is in question. The trust fund from my mother hasn't been touched. It's fine. I can still pay you. I just have tedious legal business to worry about as well.”_

_Merrin nodded. “Well, if that's the case, perhaps we should leave now?”_

_JD didn't know if that was enough to buy him more time, but it was a start. They'd worry if they thought anyone would look too closely into him being missing or dead, and the longer he was alive, the better chance they had of getting his money, rather than letting it go to some sister they had no information on. It had to be enough for now, since he didn't have anything better and wasn't about to marry someone to give himself some other heir._

_“Sure. Let's go.”_

* * *

_The bastards hadn't blindfolded him, but they sure tinted their windows as dark as possible on this limo, keeping the window up between the driver and the rest of them._

 _He supposed he wasn't surprised. They had to have contingencies, and they wouldn't want him coming back here on his own to expose everything, even if they supposedly trusted him. That was very likely what Walker had done and gotten himself killed._

_JD set a timer on his watch, pretending at boredom while he waited. He knew he wasn't going to be blindfolded, but he wanted a timer as well, doing his best to track the journey. He couldn't see the speedometer from here, so he couldn't be sure what speed they were going, but it wasn't fast at first._

_He would have to test things later, but as long as he knew how long the drive was and the approximate turns, he could probably find his way back. It would take experimentation, but it would be worth it if this place turned out to be where they had Walker or his body._

_And, what the hell, maybe he'd end up a hero after all._

_Except... he was guilty of murder so he could never actually be a hero._

_That didn't bother him. He wasn't in this for the heroics, only to quiet that nagging sense in him that he had to do this. He hadn't been able to walk away from this even as much as he'd wanted to, over and over again. He'd had every reason to avoid it, to say no or back out, and yet he stayed in and kept going. It was insane._

_Not the kind of insane he'd been when he killed Ram Sweeney or tried to blow up the school, but it still wasn't well adjusted that was for sure._

_“I'm sure you'll be thrilled once you actually see what we've done,” Merrin told him. “Every time I look at it, I'm so impressed by it, actually. Every time I go out there, I'm amazed all over again.”_

_“Whatever. Is this going to take much longer?” JD asked, playing up the bored rich kid angle. “I'd like to get this over with already.”_

_“You don't think you're actually going to see anything, do you?”_

_“What I think is that it's taking too damned long to get there. I've never been a fan of road trips or long drives. What good is money if you can't spend it on faster transportation?”_

_“Isn't there something to be said for luxury?”_

_JD's mind went to what his father would have done with this kind of a car, and he refused to think any longer. “There alcohol in here somewhere? That would make this a whole hell of a lot better.”_

* * *

_“This is it.”_

_JD looked up from his drink. He wasn't sure how many of these he'd had and he actually thought maybe he'd had a bit too much, after all. It seemed stronger than it should have been. That, or they'd tricked him by driving even longer than was necessary and letting him get drunk in the process. Sounded like a good plan to him. He would have used it._

_Damn. He really shouldn't have fallen for it._

_He checked his watch._

_He had, though, if his timer was anything to judge by, and he knew it was. Fine. He was drunk, and he'd been played. Good work. He was really doing well on this job._

_“Let's see if you can amaze me, then,” JD said, reaching for the door handle. Before he could open it, someone else did from the outside. He had to wonder if he and Merrin had been locked in there the entire time. He wouldn't be surprised if that was true._

_“This way, Mr. Dedman,” the chauffeur said, gesturing for JD to get out. He stumbled, almost falling as he did, and he grimaced, leaning against the limo for support. He had tried to be so careful about this, so very careful and then what had he done? He'd thrown it all away because of a few too many drinks._

_He shook his head at himself, blinking into the desert and frowning. He was looking at a slice of suburbia right in front of him, little houses all in a row, with well-manicured green lawns the likes of which belonged in a Rockwell painting._

_And behind them was canyon wall, blocking it from being seen. They'd picked a good spot for this, that was for sure. No one would see it unless they knew where it was, and it did look pretty damned real._

_Then again, he was drunk, so what the hell did he know?_

_“Well, this is one hell of an oasis, isn't it?”_

_“Exactly, Mr. Dedman,” Merrin said, beaming with pride. “We've created a real wonder out here, and soon it will be time to show it to the world.”_

* * *

“How the fuck does a pervert manage to get elected as a senator?”

Veronica was still staring on in complete disbelief, but Enid could accept her brother—bedraggled and obviously hungover as he was—being there, since he sounded very much like himself and even mostly looked like it, if more of a wreck than usual.

Truth be told, she'd never actually seen him like this, though she'd seen him shot before, and that was scary, but by the time she'd reached him, he was already on the ground, cursing up a storm, and the bastard who'd shot him was barely hanging on to life while that poor kid looked on, completely traumatized.

“I think that's part of the job description,” Enid said, managing to find her voice again. “All politicians are perverts, remember?”

He grimaced, leaning back against the door. “I have vague recollections of telling you that, yes. Something about the love of power and the corruption it holds and how it perverts anyone it comes in contact with or something.”

“In much fancier words the last time,” Enid said. “You're rather poetic when you get on a slushie high and spout philosophy.”

“That's not philosophy. It's fact,” Jay disagreed, seeming almost collected when he did. “And I will rephrase—how does a pedophile manage to get elected senator?”

“I really don't want to think about that, so please tell me there is a point to all of this somewhere in between you being possibly still drunk and barging into my house like this,” Enid said, rising from her chair. “Jay, you look like hell. Sit down before you fall down, and explain something, anything while I find you something cute and fluffy to hold.”

“Mailbox,” he said, and she frowned. She'd checked for mail already, and there wasn't anything, not that it would have been anything besides bills. Or was that yesterday? She couldn't remember. “Could be late.”

“Did you order me another quaggan?”

“Maybe?” he rubbed his head as he stumbled across the room. “Things get a little fuzzy after a few dozen bottles.”

“Excuse me?” Enid said, her mind tripping over that one, since she'd been mostly focused on going out to find her new quaggan until he said that bit about bottles. Holy hell. It didn't take her mom that much, and she was barely functional.

He shrugged. “It takes a lot to get me as numb as I want to be, and actually it hasn't worked in weeks, so while some of it blurs together and I think I did pass the point of 'black out drunk' more than once... I don't remember it. I think I might remember toying with the idea of sending you a blue one as a parting gift.”

She stared at him. That hurt, a whole lot more than it should have because she basically already knew that was his plan. “Jay—”

“I was fine, and then some idiot says 'Jason Dean' instead of 'James Dean' and it all gets fucked up from there,” Jay said. He looked at her, frowning again, like seeing her upset him more than what had brought this on. “And I swore I wasn't doing this, but I'm here anyway. The hell is wrong with me?”

“You knew you needed help, and you got it this time,” Veronica said, though she sounded a bit shaky, like she'd been thrown as much as he had. She took a few steps forward and stopped. “I want to be glad you did, but why the hell didn't you just accept it before, you ass?”

“You... are not supposed to be here,” he said, and Enid figured he'd only just realized that Enid wasn't alone. “And if I'd known—”

“Don't,” Veronica choked out, very upset. “Just... don't.”

Enid really wasn't up to sorting out their relationship right now, and she knew Jay was in no state to deal with it. Any longer, and he would bolt, since he could barely deal with Veronica sober. Enid went over to her brother's side, pulling him away from the door and leading him over her mother's pathetic excuse for a couch. “Sit. Stay. Don't do anything stupid.”

“Already did. Came in that door,” he said, putting his head down in his hands. “I can't shut them off. I thought if I could remember why they'd started up again, they'd quit, but I was wrong.”

Enid sat down next to him. “Jay—”

“Did I ever tell you that the twelve step program is bullshit?”

“Yes, several times.”

“Oh,” he whispered. “Good.”

* * *

“Did he just... pass out?” Veronica asked, frowning as she moved closer to the couch. She knew from experience that waking JD could be a bit rough. He'd caught her hand, hard, and if she'd been more awake and less in shock over killing Kurt and Ram she would have been more bothered by that.

It was one of those things that she hadn't thought much about but hinted at the stuff she only knew now, about the abuse he'd suffered at his father's hands.

“I think so,” Enid said, twisting her lip. She took a breath and pushed him over, letting him fall so he took up more of the couch. She sighed. “I really did not need two drunks.”

“I think that may have been why he wasn't willing to come to you,” Veronica told her. “If he is only barely coping with this by having way too much to drink, he'd avoid you. If he really cares about you, that is.”

Enid glared at her. “I didn't say that like I thought he didn't care. It's just... frustrating.”

Veronica nodded. “It is, but it goes without saying that it could be worse.”

Enid winced. “I don't even want to think about that. Okay, there are blankets in the hallway, so why don't you get one of them and put it over him. We're not going to get much anything out of him until he wakes up again, so... yeah, I'm going to check the mailbox real quick.”

Veronica let her go. Enid probably wanted to be alone for a bit, and while going outside wasn't ideal, locking herself in the bathroom would be worse in many ways. Veronica wouldn't want to do it, though she had in the past, including not that long ago at her mother's house.

That reminded her. She owed Betty a call, too.

She'd do that in a minute. First the blanket, or Enid would get all worked up again, and if she was not mistaken, JD was shivering in his sleep. She grimaced and turned away, going to get the blanket. She opened a cupboard and took a thick blue one out of it, carrying it back with her.

She draped it over him, tucking him into it as much as she dared. He shuddered, and she winced. He was unconscious, not sleeping, and he shouldn't be plagued by dreams or anything else. She knelt next to him and brushed back some of his hair.

The door opened, and Enid came in, a package in her hands. She shut the door behind her and came over to them.

“You're a bastard. This is cute, but I don't forgive you for being about to leave again or showing up this drunk,” Enid muttered. She shook her head and placed the blue plush next to her brother. “Is he... shaking?”

“He has been the entire time.”

“That's weird.”

Veronica didn't disagree. “Can you check those articles again? Wasn't there some mention of a senator in at least one of them?”

Enid gagged. “Seriously, if that is why those kids died—”

“I know,” Veronica interrupted, not wanting to think about that, either, “but we have to know.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More case, more speculation, and more trouble.

* * *

_“What are you doing?”_

_“Looking for somewhere to take a piss,” JD said, giving Merrin a smile, laughing when he saw the irritation on the other man's face. So deep was his belief in this place the idea of someone doing something so ordinary and unsanitary as urinating had him up in arms. “I didn't want to touch the grass, and somehow all the doors are locked.”_

_He'd wanted to look around inside the houses, figuring that there was a good chance that Walker was here in some form or other. He knew he wasn't likely to get far unescorted, but he actually did have to pee, so it was as good an excuse as any._

_“Too much to drink on the drive,” JD went on. “It really took too long.”_

_“I apologize, of course, and we would not expect you to wait until we return, of course. Here, let me open that door for you,” Merrin said, walking up to the porch. He took out a set of keys, and JD made a note to swipe them later if at all possible. He could probably pick it, that was a skill he'd insisted on picking up as soon as he was free, but the keys could still be important._

_Then again, Merrin might not have the ones JD needed anyway._

_He'd still try, though, if only to test his pickpocketing skills. He wasn't so sure he was any good at that, since most of what he'd learned was that his father only let him think he'd managed to steal anything. It would always be used against him later._

_“Come on inside. I think you'll like what you see of the houses, too, of course. They're very practical... and affordable, given the location,” Merrin said, stepping into the house._

_JD frowned, not sure if Merrin had been planning on giving him a tour the entire time or not. He followed Merrin inside, not sure if he was going to come back out that door again. He shouldn't do this, either, but he wanted to look around._

_He didn't think this place had an attic, but he'd bet it had a basement. He wasn't sure if the way the place smelled was just from being shut up all the time or if there was more to it, like rotting bodies._

_He did not want it to be rotting bodies, but he kind of figured there'd be at least one. Walker was here, somewhere. He was almost sure of it. He didn't have a good reason—they could have left his body anywhere in the desert, but that meant he'd be found._

_This place they controlled._

_JD bet they had cameras or someone watching the place even at night. One of these houses was lived in, even if it wasn't really as functional as Merrin claimed._

_“This is a fairly standard three bedroom, two bath model. Affordable. Practical. Perfect, really. And have you noticed the weather?”_

_Someone had the air conditioning working before they got here so it would seem cooler. “Nice. Toilet. Now. Unless you want a mess.”_

_“Of course not,” Merrin said. He gestured to a door up ahead. “Right here.”_

_JD went into the other room, shutting the door behind him. He reached for the handle, turning the water on, since he refused to let Merrin stand out there and listen to him. That was some twisted thing his father had given him, though he couldn't even remember when, just that he was terrifed by the idea of someone standing outside the bathroom while he used it._

_Fuck, was there anything left that didn't remind him of the past and what his father had done?_

_He leaned over the sink. The answer to that was no, and he knew it. His father had tainted everything. Poisoned it, twisted it into something obscene or one of his many head games. He couldn't sort out the moments that were almost normal from the ones with abuse._

_The only thing he hadn't ruined was Veronica. JD had done that, killing Ram and Kurt, but she'd been... special. She was something his father hadn't planned on and hadn't managed to take from him. He'd fallen hard for that dark haired beauty, something beautiful and free of his father's corruption. She'd been damaged, like he was, though not as much. She had strength. What he did hadn't broken her, but he'd been broken. His father had seen to that._

_Maybe with Veronica's help he could have started piecing himself together, but he'd shattered things further by continuing to kill. If it was just Heather, just a mistake and prank gone wrong, maybe there could have still been something, but after Kurt and Ram, it couldn't. He'd been a fool to think it could have._

_“Mr. Dedman?”_

_JD almost called out to him before he reconsidered. He'd wait a few more minutes, let them worry. If they thought he passed out, they might leave him alone for a bit, and he'd get to see what he'd really come out here for, not just what they wanted him to see._

_Again, it was a lousy plan, but he was still drunk._

* * *

_That it worked was both surprising and not. Merrin was no criminal genius, he was the patsy, and he didn't know what to do with himself without orders. The chauffeur wasn't any better, JD suspected, because they were both meant to be seen by the marks, and anyone who'd been seen had to be disposable._

_So Merrin was. The chauffeur was._

_They talked about what to do, and they left him to go make a call, confirming his suspicions that one of the other houses was actually occupied. They needed orders._

_He didn't._

_He forced himself up from the floor and went exploring. This was the show house, so it wasn't likely to have much, but there was still a chance there was something, and if he had to come back, he'd rather not have this place to search along with the others._

_He made a quick jog upstairs, looking in each room. If there was something here, it was hidden good, and he didn't really have the time to go tapping for hollows in walls or looking for secret passageways._

_He figured there wasn't any, not that they'd risk showing to investors and suckers, so he headed back down and found the door to the basement._

_It was locked, no real surprise there, but he'd taken to carrying a few makeshift picks in his wallet—he also wore a belt for the buckle he could use if he had to—since he got free. He was paranoid about it, but better that than finding himself anywhere close to where Bud had him before._

_He needed cyanide capsules, too, since he'd rather die than go through that again._

_He had guns, he supposed, but he'd put most of them in storage when he realized how bad his addiction was. He also knew that wasn't enough, since he'd never managed to use them against his father. Or to kill himself when he was so low that was all he wanted._

_He finished with the lock and opened the door, grimacing when there was no light for the stairs. He'd either have to risk it now or try again later when he had a flashlight._

 _And if there was anything here to see—and he was worried there was because the smell was worse now—it would be gone when he got back._

_He decided to go forward. He might get himself killed, but he'd rather die than go back empty handed, and really, what did he have to live for, anyway?_

_Nothing._

_He didn't like the answer, but it was true. He had nothing. His mother was long dead, and Bud was dead—not that JD was the least bit sad about that. He had no family outside of them, and he didn't have friends, either, between moving around and his father's need to isolate him from everyone._

_Not everyone, a traitorous part of his mind reminded him, and he hated himself for the thought even as he had to stop and take several deep breaths to clear his head of the memories._

_Veronica._

_She'd left him, and he couldn't go near her, but he could see to it she was safe and happy and all the things she wasn't when she was with him._

_He knew that wasn't enough. He wasn't that good of a person._

_His foot hit the bottom step, and he was on the basement floor. He knew it because it was dirt, unlike the wood of the steps. The ground was uneven, and he found himself reluctant to leave the walls and go exploring._

_“Oh, you shouldn't have done this,” a voice said from the top of the stairs. “You really, really shouldn't have done this.”_

* * *

“There are absolutely no allegations lodged against Senator Harris,” Enid reported, rubbing a hand over her face. “None. I can't find a single reference to him ever being accused of anything close to sexual misconduct. If he was a pedophile, he hid it really, really well.”

Veronica sighed, catching herself running her fingers through JD's hair again. She pulled her hand away, waiting to see if he started shivering again. “That's pretty much what we expected, though, isn't it? It's not like JD would have been so upset if the guy was outed like Woods and imprisoned for his crimes.”

Enid nodded. “I know it is, but I guess I was hoping that we'd have at least one clear answer. Not that I haven't worked on getting the rest of them, too, since I conveniently have access to a certain agency and—”

“You still have a working hack in the FBI?”

“Oh, don't say it like you think it's impossible,” Enid said. “I can cover my tracks—not that I leave much of them in the digital world—and I always make it look like the data I requested was done in a very legitimate way, raising no red flags. I never do the obvious stuff that gets you caught—altering files or trying to crack super classified documents, and you should be grateful, you know. If I hadn't been able to do that, your old boss would have succeeded in driving you insane.”

Veronica didn't bother correcting that statement. True, Veronica owed a lot to the emergency call Enid had made in her behalf before passing out, but Enid had actually needed that more than she did. JD had shown up and saved Veronica and then vanished in time to make her doubt her own sanity.

“What did you find?”

“Well... if I understand this correctly, the children involved were all dead for a long time before Walker and the other adult victims. So whoever was killing the kids may have been stopped years before Jay got involved. There was very little physical evidence left behind on any of them, as most of them had deteriorated to... bones, and there was no obvious trauma on any of them to actually indicate murder. That seems to have confused your friends over there a little—a lot—since Walker was apparently tortured before he died.”

“The likelihood of there being two different killers dumping bodies in the same area is so small it's almost unheard of,” Veronica said. “There are exceptions, of course, killers working in pairs or one trying to copy someone else's work but for two unrelated killers to use the same dump site... not common.”

Enid rose. “I need my quaggan.”

“I'll throw you this one,” Veronica said. “What else? Never mind. I'll read it myself.”

“They couldn't identify most of those kids. They still have no idea who they were or why they died,” Enid said, shuddering. “That's so wrong.”

Veronica looked back at JD. He was starting to get agitated again. “At the time, they didn't have the resources. Interagency cooperation was crap, they didn't know to test for DNA... They could probably do it now, but that would take money and manpower, and with everything else going on, they won't spare it for a case this old.”

“Especially not when they think they solved it by catching Walker's killer.”

“They did?”

“Yeah. Some creep named Merrin. He had a standoff with police where they found the bodies.”

Veronica frowned. “Two types of killing, probably two killers, and one of them just happens to die in a standoff with the police? Did they find out about him from an anonymous tip?”

“Yes. How did you know that?” Enid asked, instantly suspicious. “What's going on? I don't like that look on your face. That's too much like Jay's look when he's about to tell me something is really, really fucked up, and that look scares me.”

“I could be wrong,” Veronica told her. “God, I hope I'm wrong, but I'd say Merrin was a fall guy. He was meant to look like the killer, but he wasn't. Someone else did that to Walker, to those kids, and he got away with it.”

Enid shook her head. “No. Jay would never have allowed that.”

Veronica wanted to believe that, but she couldn't shake the feeling that the killer was still out there. That JD knew he was. And that was why he was now a drunken mess on Enid's couch.

* * *

_Someone knocked on the door, and JD tensed up, pulling on the metal chaining him to the couch—the latest indignity; he was strong enough to try and make a run for the door a couple days ago, and he paid for it in a beating and this, being chained wherever he was, even in the locked room._

_His father knew he was willing to jump out the window if he could make it. He knew JD would kill himself if he could manage it, but right now, he wanted JD alive—hadn't tired of this part of the game, introducing him to every pervert from the games, letting them see him and leer, making remarks that were barely veiled threats. Everyone of them would have hurt him if Bud had let them._

_One of these times, he would, and JD knew it. He was going insane again, dreading each knock, each visitor. One of them would be the start of it, and once it started, it wouldn't stop._

_“Every winning streak has to end, you know.”_

_JD didn't look back at his father. “Please don't do this. Don't—find some other prize, go double or nothing or—something. Anything. Don't... don't do this. Don't give me to them. Please, Dad. Don't.”_

_“Appealing to my sympathies won't work, Jason. You keep thinking you can change things, that you can ignore what I say, and you still don't see your place. You're mine. I own you. You do what I tell you. You live because I want it. You only die if I let it happen. You are_ mine. _And yet you stubbornly refuse to see it, so... I'll make you see it. Feel it, I suppose. One loss at a time, and since losing can be just as much of a streak as winning is—”_

_“No,” JD said, turning back to Bud, grabbing onto his arm. “Please. You can't. Not... I'm not... you can't just let a bunch of people... do that. It's not... You can't. Please. I'll do whatever you want, just don't... don't give me away like that, trade my body like it's... like it's nothing.”_

_“It is nothing, Jason. That's what you don't understand. It's nothing unless I say it is. It's mine, not yours. And I bet it, and I lost, and I will pay my debts.”_

_“You're not the one paying them. I am,” JD whispered, swallowing down the bile in his throat. “Please. If there's even a small part of you that cares about me—”_

_“Jason, don't you see? I do this because I love you,” his father said, touching his cheek. “I'm just trying to help you understand how things are.”_

_“This isn't love. Love is not—”_

_“Love is you doing what you're told,” Bud told him. “And you don't, so don't pretend you know what love is.”_

_JD shook his head. “Even when I did what you wanted, you hurt me. I tried. I tried to do what you wanted me to do. I tried to be good. What the hell do you want from me?”_

_Bud smiled at him. “You know what I want.”_

* * *

He jerked awake, flailing a bit even as he hit something both soft and hard at the same time, taking in its hideous pattern and his mind filing it away as some kind of old and discarded furnishing as he took in low daylight and something completely unexpected.

Veronica.

Sitting in front of him, her hand not far from where he imagined he might have been laying before the panic drew him out of yet another nightmare.

He swallowed.

“You need to puke?” she asked, “because if you do, we can get you a bowl or try and get you to the bathroom in time. Just... don't do it on me, okay?”

“What, you don't want to lick it up?” he asked, and she groaned, lowering her head, a slight flush on her cheeks.

That felt good. Nothing else did, but that moment there, that had been good. He took in a breath, let it out, forced himself to repeat it, but it wasn't working. His heart had sped up, and he was trying to hyperventilate even as he tried to calm himself down.

“Easy,” Veronica said, moving from the floor to his side. “Whatever it was, you're safe here.”

He snorted. “You know that's not true. There's no safe in a mind like mine.”

“Well, you're not where anyone from your past can hurt you,” she corrected. “Except me, I suppose, but I was just about to pull a blanket over you and give you that fuzzy quaggan again.”

“And I'll go get you a slushie if that helps,” Enid said. He looked up at her. “Damn it. This is really, really bad, but if it's as bad as Veronica thinks—it can't be. You wouldn't have let a killer or a pedophile go free. That's not you. You'd have hurt them for hurting others. Well, maybe not the killer so much as the other.”

JD had a particular dislike for pedophiles, that was true. He'd gladly kill all of them, and he wasn't alone in that sentiment. Many upstanding, law-abiding people thought the same thing. “Why are you assuming I let a killer go?”

“You mentioned the name Walker,” Veronica told him. “Enid and I came up with a possible tie in. Man named Walker's body was found with several others in a mass grave and—Shit.”

He looked down at her shoes and then away, trying not to get sick again. “Sorry. I'll buy you a new pair. Just throw them out.”

“I take it we hit a nerve,” Enid said. “Found the right case. I should be proud of that, but I'm not.”

He closed his eyes. “Can we try... a bit of water?”

“And a towel and a bowl before we ask more questions,” Veronica said, and he knew he hadn't appeased her by offering to buy her new shoes. He hadn't even had any warning on that one. She'd said Walker and mass grave, and he'd lost his stomach before he could think about it.

“Right,” Enid said, rushing into the other room. He heard the faucet come on and shut off, and then she was back with a glass and a wad of paper towels. “Drink that if you can. I'll get the bowl.”

He took the water gladly, wanting anything he could get to wash that taste away. Veronica wiped up the mess around her feet, kicking off her shoes and using the towels to clean up what had gotten on her. She would need more than that, though.

“I need a shower,” Veronica muttered, and he started to apologize, but she just shook her head.

Enid held out a plastic bag so Veronica could put the papers in it. She did, and Enid wrapped it up, taking it off to the garbage. She had too much practice with that.

He shouldn't have come.

Enid came back into the room, a canister of antiseptic wipes in hand. She passed the container to Veronica and wiped her own hands down. “Was it Merrin who killed them?”

JD wanted to deny his involvement, wanted to pretend he didn't know, but he knew he couldn't do that. It was too late. He couldn't stop it all from coming out now, though he might not be able to hold himself together for much longer.

“No. Merrin was just the pasty."

* * *

_“You really, really shouldn't have done this,” the voice repeated, echoing a bit off the stairwell._

_JD felt sick. He knew that voice. He knew its slight accent, its fake cultured air. He wanted to run, but the only exit was toward the voice, and he couldn't go that way. Not to that bastard. Not to the man who made him feel dirty in less than a minute of conversation, like he'd never be clean again just for the crime of catching that sicko's eye._

_Eberhard._

_Merrin was working with Eberhard._

_JD was well and truly fucked now._


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JD puts together a few pieces of the past for Enid and Veronica while struggling with his memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had started this where JD explains the part at the end a lot sooner, and then I looked at it and said, "um, crazy person, since when is JD that forthcoming?"
> 
> As the answer was never, I decided to cover some more of it in flashbacks, though they were unpleasant. I blame Eberhard. He's... well...

* * *

_The only real choice he had was to stick to his terrible cover, such as it was. That wouldn't save him, but he had to try anyway. He didn't know that he was any good at accents, though he'd try and fake one if it wouldn't fall apart the moment Merrin showed himself again. No, that wasn't going to work. Still, he'd rather not know Eberhard, so he'd just stick with saying he didn't._

_“I think I had too much to drink,” JD said. “And I got lost. It's dark here. Can you help me find the door? I think I have to piss again, and I could sleep for days.”_

_That got him laughter. “Oh, that's almost clever of you, but I'm not that naïve.”_

_“Didn't say you were a native. I am lost, though, and it is dark, so... a little help out of here would be nice.”_

_JD didn't want that bastard anywhere near him, didn't want to be touched, but if it got him out of here and into the light and far away from that sicko, he'd take it for a while._

_“Charming, but I'm afraid you already know too much.”_

_“About the terraforming? I mean, it's still so science fiction and I keep expecting to hear Twilight Zone music or the Star Trek theme, but since I'm not, can we find the bathroom again?”_

_“I doubt that's what you really need.”_

_“Okay, maybe I'd rather have more to drink. Can I just shove some money at your valuable enterprise and call it done?”_

_“If this was only about money, perhaps that would work.”_

_JD swallowed. “And why wouldn't it be about money? Merrin said you were desperate.”_

_“When my friend said he'd found us a new investor, just when we needed a new influx of cash to keep the operation going, I was naturally quite skeptic,” Eberhard said as he came down the stairs. “And then he showed me a photograph of you, and I could not believe the resemblance you had to someone I knew before. I knew, even if you were not the investor we needed, I had to see much, much more of you.”_

_“We could go talk about it,” JD said, wondering if he sounded the same as he had before. “A few more drinks couldn't hurt.”_

_“You still have a bit of bravado left in you. That's good. I was actually afraid he'd managed to force it all out of you. You had spirit, even in your weakened state, and that mix of spirit and fear was... delicious, really,” Eberhard said, the words and his tone making JD sick to his stomach. “It was rather a shame to see you so broken when he'd finished with you.”_

_JD didn't remember that, didn't remember seeing Eberhard again after that first meeting, for all he'd gone on about wanting to be the one that won, and he almost said so, but doing that would condemn him for good._

_“I'm not sure what you mean. Well, my father did try and straighten me out by sending me off to military school, but they weren't that good at their jobs, and I got kicked out in record time,” JD said, throwing in a shrug for good measure. “Then he died, I got his money, and to hell with school.”_

_“Do you actually expect me to believe that? Oh, I've no doubt you've got your father's money. Bud Dean really didn't understand what he had in you, and I would never have wasted you the way he did—imagine, him handing you, the great prize, over to a mere zoning commissioner... No, that should never have happened. You were meant for more important things.”_

_“Is that supposed to imply you were one of them? Look, I don't know you, but I also don't swing that way, so you can just forget that and let me out of here.”_

_Eberhard laughed again, and JD knew that wasn't good. He heard the man getting closer, and he tensed, trying to figure out how to get to the stairs without being stopped._

_“I don't care about the money.”_

_“Is this because I made some rude comments about your little dream out here? It's a nice thought, but it has to be fake, right?”_

_“This is about you, Jason,” Eberhard said, and damn it, he was right next to JD now, close enough to be a real threat. “Do you honestly think that I'd let you get away again?”_

* * *

_He fought._

_He almost always did, and it never mattered. He still preferred it to the times when he didn't, that whole patch after Vegas where he gave his father everything he wanted in some desperate hope that it would ever be enough, believing the only thing he could—that the pain Bud gave him was preferable to the things the others did to him if Bud let them. He'd been a quiet little robot those days, pretending he obeyed, pretending he wasn't going to flee if given half a chance. He'd seen it a few months into that time, even as broken as he was. Bud let his guard down. He let JD have more and more freedom because he seemed broken._

_The less he defied his father, the more he appeared to be free. He knew it was an illusion, but it allowed him to start making preparations again. He was given a bike as a test, and he passed by not driving off into the sunset first chance he got, and then he was free to move around._

_To buy guns, to plan his father's murder and get real freedom, not just from Bud but from the man in the will and maybe others. JD wasn't sure Bud didn't have arrangements for all of them, all those sick perverts he'd met in Vegas._

_Still, all of that meant nothing when he threw out his own plans for Veronica and ridding Westerburg of its bullies. He'd lost everything again until the car accident he still couldn't remember._

_And then this Walker business..._

_He understood now what had made him so sure he had to do something about it—Eberhard. He just hadn't known in time, and despite doing his best to fight in this dirty, dark basement, he lost._

_He tripped over something, going down hard, and when he hit, his hand made contact with something that might once have been human but wasn't anymore. And then Eberhard was behind him again and there was a sharp pain followed by nothing at all._

* * *

_He'd thought the headache he had after first coming off morphine was bad, but this was nothing to his withdrawal at the time. His head pounded and his stomach heaved, and he could tell this was a concussion. A bad one._

_That was some consolation. Maybe he'd die before too long. That would be fine by him, since he had no interest in living as Eberhard's prisoner._

_“I was waiting for you to wake,” the man said, leaning over him. JD jerked away, and his stomach tried to empty itself, but for all the heaving, nothing came out. He closed his eyes and shuddered through it, willing any part of his body to cooperate._

_His arms did first, protesting the position they were in, trapped above his head, and he understood a moment later—he was tied up somewhere. Underneath him was soft, but solid, so he figured on a bed, and he had no control over the panic that hit after that realization._

_He was fortunate, he thought, that he blacked out again._

* * *

“How did Mirren end up a patsy if you knew about him?” Enid asked, ignoring the look she got from Veronica, who JD imagined was a bit leery of pushing him too much, bowl or no bowl, not wanting to get puked on again. He hadn't meant to do that, but he couldn't stop himself. The memories could get that from him on their own, but he'd also drank a lot more than he should have before he somehow talked himself into seeing Enid.

He didn't remember that part, which worried him, but he had never driven while drunk before, so he held out some hope he hadn't been completely stupid about this.

Just... mostly.

“Jay?” Enid prompted. Damn, she was persistent. Too persistent. Too good for the likes of him.

“Because _I_ made him the patsy,” JD answered. Enid frowned, starting to shake her head like she didn't believe him, but he knew Veronica did. She understood, and hated him for it, like maybe she should.

“You bastard. You set them against each other.”

JD shrugged. He'd made a choice, and for the most part, he didn't regret it. “I didn't have a lot of options at the time.”

“It's still a bit hard to believe that was the only one,” Veronica said. “You have an interesting definition of what that is. Or you did, when we were dating.”

“Kurt and Ram could have been handled other ways. I know that now. At the time, my ideas seemed like the only ones worth doing,” he said. “And that situation was entirely different. I was free to make other choices and didn't. This time... I wasn't.”

Enid winced. “Somehow I know you're not even scratching the surface of what they did to you when you say that.”

He drew in a breath and let it out, closing his eyes and patting the spot beside him where the quaggan was. Enid came over to his side, sitting down next to him. She took his hand, looking up at him with those eyes of hers, so innocent despite their shared blood.

“I know it's the last thing you want to do, but tell me. Please.”

He sighed. “All that really matters is that I stumbled my way into working as a private detective not long after I freed myself from Bud and the drugs. I thought I'd like it, that it was a way to use my less than good impulses for something not so bad. That and I'd be my own boss and make my own hours and all that shit.”

“You're evading,” Veronica said, and damn her for knowing him, because he was.

“Mrs. Walker hired me to find out what happened to her husband. And I went in, back to Vegas, all against my better judgment, and pretended I was a rich trust fund kid who had money to blow on their con job,” JD said, covering all of that with the barest details possible. “Once they knew I was onto them, they moved away from trying to sweet talk me out of my money to demanding it and a lot of other stuff by force. Playing a mind game on Merrin was the only shot I had of doing _anything_ to them. My hands were, quite literally, tied.”

_The rope was cutting into his wrists deep enough where the chafing was already turning bloody, though part of that was his fault. He couldn't seem to stop pulling on them even when he was out of it, and while he still tried, he wasn't going anywhere._

_“I never believed it, of course, when they said you were dead. Blowing yourself up at school? Very dramatic, but hardly you. Not that poor broken spirit horrified by the life his father had just revealed was his,” Eberhard went on. “Oh, he was bound to sell you after the gambling bored him, and I think you knew that, but looking at you when you understood why I was there, you seemed to think he'd given up on the idea of betting you.”_

_“You don't know me,” JD told him. He would have blown himself up then gladly. He'd been ready to die. It was for the best._

_“I suppose it was rather a blur for you after your father stopped winning,” Eberhard said, reaching up to touch JD's cheek. “Poor thing. I suppose I shouldn't tell you I think he started losing on purpose. Making stupid mistakes, missing tells he always caught before, all of that. I think he wanted an excuse to give you to them.”_

_JD didn't say anything, just looked away, trying to control his reaction. He wouldn't let Eberhard win by getting him to beg or plead. He wouldn't let any of this get to him._

_“Of course, it was easy not to believe in your death when Bud came back, using you as a stake again. The others found the news reports and were so upset, had him banned from the casinos, but I thought it was rather inspired of him. He'd found a way to keep you forever. That was something I wanted for myself with others,” Eberhard said, leaning in close again. “And with you, actually. Something about that mix of broken but still fighting that you had, the way you were so confused about which way was up and still thought you could change things. It was endearing.”_

_“Is any of this supposed to impress me? You're just rambling like an idiot, and believe me, if this were any kind of a fair fight, you'd be dead by now. You talk too much.”_

_“I should think you'd be glad I was talking. It delays the other pieces you know are coming and gives you a false sense of security, allowing you to think you might still escape it if I talk long enough,” Eberhard said, giving him a smile. JD turned his head to avoid looking at him. “I suppose I don't mind. I have been wanting this since I first met you.”_

_JD tried to pull away, the ropes making it difficult to get anywhere, but he crawled up against the headboard anyway. Maybe if he could break the wood, he'd get free. Or something._

_Eberhard followed him, a knife in hand, and JD knew that wouldn't be cutting him loose._

_The pain that tore into his leg made his head seem like nothing._

* * *

“Jay?”

“I can't,” he whispered, even though he knew he had to do something. He'd tried, before, and he'd thought it was over and done with, but it wasn't, and if it wasn't, how did he live with that? He couldn't. He knew that. He had done terrible things, but many of them he could accept and move past. He couldn't undo them anyway, and he still found some satisfaction in those deaths.

He didn't feel any satisfaction in Merrin's, and he hated himself for being fooled, for being desperate enough to believe his stupid plan might work.

“You won't have to,” Veronica said, and somewhere in this she'd sat down on his other side. He felt her hand on his back and tried not to shudder. “You just have to tell us enough that we can use, and I will do the rest.”

He tried to remember the name from the paper, but the text blurred together with the alcohol and the panic that already had hold of him when he started reading. He'd tried to calm it, but all he did was lull it to a dull ache and forget the most important part of it as he tried to hold off the complete breakdown. And that just let the bastard get away with more crimes, and JD's mind knew it, somewhere in all the mess, the guilt dragging him down again and under despite his few poor coping mechanisms.

“I don't know his name, not the real one. I doubt the one he's using now is real.”

“That would be a start.”

JD put a hand to his head. “I didn't keep the newspaper and I drank too much to remember anything from the text besides something about tax credits and that damned, smug picture of his. He was smiling and waving to the camera like he wasn't the worst of humanity.”

“I can still do something with that. You don't remember what paper it was in?”

JD shook his head. “No. I headed out on the bike, no particular place in mind to go or stay, just whatever struck my fancy along the way. It worked out rather well the last time, at least for a while.”

Enid smiled at him. “It's still a good thing you picked that place and that I found you, and if you try and deny it, I'll hurt you.”

“You might do it anyway. I don't know if they believed me, but back then I gave them a song and dance story about a half-sister who was after half of my dad's money, and he knew Bud Dean very well,” JD said. He looked back at Veronica. “I wasn't lying about there being a reason she shouldn't advertise that, though he's not the only one she'd have to worry about. Bud apparently pissed a lot of them off the last time he was here.”

“Yeah, we know he got banned,” Enid said. “He's still on the list despite being dead.”

“Well, this guy didn't buy that I was dead, so I'm not sure he accepted Bud's death, either,” JD told her, trying to keep that thought from taking him back into the past, though he didn't know how well he could hold himself here.

“Anything else you can remember that might help?”

JD sighed. “It's what I remember that _doesn't_ help. It's pain and death and... and a shit ton of other things I don't _want_ to remember, the crap that has me crawling into bottles in a desperate attempt to keep myself from going back to the other drugs. The one was very good for forgetting. I could forget for a _very,_ very long time. I liked that.”

“Forgetting isn't the answer.”

“Maybe not,” he said, “but I still prefer it to remembering.”

* * *

_“There's nowhere safe for you now,” Eberhard told him. “I hope you understand that. You can delay the inevitable, but only delay it. You're in my hands now, and I won't stop or tease you with games. That's not how I work.”_

_“So, what, I should just say fuck you and let you get it over with?”_

_“Of course not. I find the amount of fight you had left in you surprised me before—surprised and pleased me,” Eberhard told him. “And I would expect nothing less from you now, even if you will suffer greatly in the process.”_

_“If you really wanted a fight, you'd untie me.”_

_“I think I'd be a fool to do that, and I'm not a fool. I didn't get here by being a fool. The thing is, as soon as you know that what you crave would be denied you by everyone, that what you need is something society will hurt you for, you understand the need to be cautious. Some aren't, but then some aren't smart. Me? I was smart. I found a good way to make money years ago, and while this particular scheme amuses me, I don't have all my finances tied up in it. I can leave and disappear, and no one will ever know I was here.”_

_JD watched him. “You have some kind of fail safe that buries everyone here in the desert, do you?”_

_“Naturally,” Eberhard said. “And none of them know me by my real name or even the one I gave your father. Tricks of the trade. You tried to use them, but you are unfortunately too beautiful and youthful for your own good. I really couldn't help it, getting those young rich boys involved. Merrin didn't like them as much, but I did. And then you... oh, you had to come. I had to have you. I liked the name, by the way. Dedman was fitting.”_

_He'd thought so, but to hear the other man say it, he didn't want to think that again. Ever._

_“I like to start by making a mark,” Eberhard went on. “Once something's been mine, it's mine forever. Is that how your father saw it?”_

_Bud had left marks, but he learned after a few times to stop leaving them in obvious places and making sure most of them couldn't scar even if they hurt like hell._

_“Do you want to compare yourself to him? Because he's dead, and you will be.”_

_“Ah, a threat,” Eberhard smiled. He touched the knife to JD's stomach, and he pulled away, only to swear when he heard the bastard laugh and realized this was what he wanted. Now JD's back was exposed to him, and Eberhard's blade cut deep into him near his spine. The blade came in and out, cutting some kind of pattern into JD's skin even as he tried to block it and stop Eberhard._

_“I studied up once, decided to start by breaking one of my early victims so he could never run from me. I found a part on his spine, here...” Eberhard put a hand on JD's back, right where the bone was, and he shivered. “Only that proved to be a mistake. Oh, sometimes, yes, physically he could react to me, but it lacked that mental connection. He really could say it was just his body, and that was infuriating.”_

_“How many of them did you kill?” JD asked, knowing he didn't want the answer but needing it all the same._

_“Not all of them, if that's what you're thinking. Though they did help me find this location here. So remote no one could find it. Or them.”_

_“You're sick.”_

_“So are you, little one, but you don't see it because you're too busy being the victim,” Eberhard said. “It's okay. I like mine with a bit of madness. Your mind fascinates me. I keep wondering how many of Bud's tales were true. He claimed he gave you a gun and you never used it against him. His hold on you must have been something very special indeed.”_

_“Trust me, if I had a gun I could use on you now, I would,” JD told him, trying to ignore the way his skin burned around the cut. Eberhard's point was clear. He could have crippled him for life if he'd wanted to, and JD knew that while part of that would be a relief, as would death, the rest of it would be worse._

_“I'm sure,” Eberhard agreed. He put the knife back against JD's skin, this time on the other side of his spine. “He failed to understand that his method was ultimately flawed. Break a creature too far and its usefulness is gone. He didn't think he'd passed that point, but he had.”_

_“What do you know of it?”_

_“You blew yourself up, didn't you? You think that you coming close to that end was what he wanted? Of course not. He never wanted you dead, just under his control. The trouble with that was, you are more beautiful, more interesting, when you are defiant. And that's what he didn't understand—that he couldn't have that wondrous spirit and expect you to act like pliant property.”_

_“You act like you're such an expert. You're not. You know maybe what he told you, but I wouldn't have to know him well to know he was lying.”_

_Eberhard's hand moved along his spine again. “Very true. You are as smart as you are beautiful.”_

_“Call me that again, and I'll find a way to kill you. I swear it.”_

_“I'm glad,” Eberhard said, touching his side with the knife. JD didn't know how he was going to get out of this, but he swore he'd find some way of stopping the bastard. “I never wanted you obedient. I find that... boring, actually.”_

_“Let me show you just how defiant I can be.”_

_“Oh, you'll get your chance,” Eberhard assured him. “Just as soon as I'm done with my work.”_

* * *

“You still with us?” Enid asked, and when he blinked there was something blue and fuzzy in front of his face. He recoiled until he realized what it was and sighed.

“I hate you.”

“Yes, well, we've established that sentiment is mutual and very much fraternal in its way,” Enid said, giving him a small smile as she touched his face. “Do we dare get you a slushie? Or are we going to see a violent episode in public next?”

He managed a small shrug. “I don't know. I haven't trusted myself in public since this started, but I doubt it's a good idea, much as a slushie is appealing right now.”

“I would say we'd go get you one, but I can't leave you here while my mother is also passed out—she'll freak if she sees you since I doubt she remembers you—and I'm not liking the idea of you being alone right now. No, I hate it.”

“Which is why she hasn't left your side even though she's supposed to be hunting down the newspaper article you mentioned,” Veronica said. He swallowed, not wanting to see it again. That face was bad enough in nightmares and memories, but to see it alive and gloating like that... That was something he apparently couldn't handle.

“Oh, come on. You were just as panicked as I was when he zoned out on us again,” Enid said, folding her arms over her chest. “Should I tell him how you begged him to come back? How you said lots of endearing things and admitted that you maybe still loved him?”

“You're making that up,” JD told her, and she frowned. “Veronica and I never actually said we loved each other. No, I did, but I also said I was coming to kill her, so... that negates that. She never said it to me.”

Veronica blinked, looking a bit confused. “I...”

“You didn't. And you're better off for it,” he said. He didn't know that he would have been able to walk away from her if she actually had said those words. “So, no, Enid, your little ruse won't work.”

“She was worried,” Enid insisted, defensive.

“I think you'd better explain how you made this Merrin guy a patsy and why the other one got out alive,” Veronica said, her voice a mix between firm and gentle, trying for kind but being insistent. “Judging from the way this got to you, there's no way you would have let him go before.”

“I had every intention of killing him myself,” JD agreed, looking down at his hands. “Only I couldn't get free. I tried talking Merrin into that, but he was so caught up in my supposed betrayal of them that he wouldn't... so I told him about Eberhard and the things he'd done, how he'd killed kids after abusing them and how he was the reason Walker was dead and everything I could think of... which wasn't much, but it eventually unbalanced him enough to where he decided he'd go deal with Eberhard himself.”

“And that was it? That was the last you knew?”

JD shook his head. “No, it fucking wasn't. Do you think I would be here if it was? I was tied up, remember? Eberhard had decided he was going to mark me and have lots of sicko fun at my expense, and if I hadn't already been bleeding, I wouldn't have done much convincing, but I did. Merrin went off after him. He was the only one that came back. I was an idiot, but I believed him when he told me Eberhard was dead. He was white as a sheet, shaking like crazy... he looked like someone who'd just killed for the first time. And I fell for it.”

“You're sure Merrin was lying for Eberhard?”

“I don't know,” JD heard himself whisper. “Merrin's dead. Eberhard's alive. What do _you_ think?”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JD explains the Merrin angle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a bit... shorter, but in part I kept it that way because it didn't feel right to lessen the reveal at the end by the scene I tried to write to follow it, and in part because the stuff JD told Merrin was hard to do and emotionally draining.
> 
> So I ended it there, but things are basically up to speed now, so I think we'll be mostly on the modern part of the case now.

* * *

_  
“You lied to me.”_

_He needed a minute to identify that voice. He knew it, but his head was throbbing out of time with the pain in his leg, and his back was on fire. Other parts of him started complaining, too, and it was very hard to think. He wanted to go back to the dark and sleep._

_“You lied to all of us. We trusted you.”_

_No one trusted him in a very, very long time. Maybe Veronica, a little, but he'd destroyed it by those Ich Luge bullets, and it would never come back again, not that she even knew he was alive. She would never know. He couldn't tell her._

_He was going to die here._

_“You seem to have your facts... backward,” JD managed to say, not sure how his voice really sounded. “Someone here lied a lot... but it wasn't me.”_

_“I know it was you. You're a private detective. You don't have any money. You came here to steal our secrets and use them yourself. You lied to us.”_

_JD turned, trying to get a good look at Merrin. The other man was borderline hysterical already, panicking, but that was at the thought of his precious experiment failing. “I didn't lie about having money. I've got a lot more than you know about, but it's secreted away where even I don't know where it is. And I was working as a private detective, but not to steal your technology. It doesn't exist, Merrin. That's the lie. This, out here? It's all fake. It's a pretty show meant to fool people for a little while, but if you were out here all the time, you'd know they still truck in water. They didn't fix the land. They used the spot where a sicko buried a bunch of kids he'd killed because he knew it wouldn't get found.”_

_“That's insane. You're lying.”_

_JD snorted. “Look at me, Merrin. Do you think that if I was just stealing secrets, I'd look like this? Your buddy Eberhard or whatever the hell name he goes by here is a sadist. He tortures people to death. It's what he did to Walker. That's why I came. I came to find Walker so his wife and daughter would know what really happened to him.”_

_Merrin frowned. “We had nothing to do with that.”_

_“You didn't, and you're the very innocent front man, too innocent for your own good, but your buddy back there, the one who told you I had to be involved? He's not innocent. He's a pervert. A pedophile. He's killed kids. He rapes them, and he kills them. He buries them here.”_

_“No.”_

_Merrin needed to believe, JD knew that. Not believing would destroy him. He didn't much care about the man's psyche, though. He just wanted out. Out before Eberhard came back to finish what he'd started._

_JD fixed him with a long, hard look. “He told you I had to be involved, right? How many other has he picked? How many were 'pretty' young men? Did he ever choose some beautiful rich woman to involve? No, he didn't, did he?”_

_“That doesn't mean he was into boys.”_

_“It does. Trust me, it does.”_

_“You lie.”_

_“You think I want to tell you that when I was still a kid he told my father he'd pay for me?” JD asked. He didn't. The thought of that made him sick. He didn't want to remember anything from that time, and he'd buried it as best he could. Some of it was a blur, between the pain and any drugs they might have given him when he was at their mercy, and he preferred that. He couldn't remember if Eberhard had actually been there then._

_He only knew his father had won, and he'd begged him not to let anyone else have him. He'd given Bud everything he wanted in the desperate hope that would stop._

_They'd left Vegas, and it seemed to, but the threat of that happening again always hung over his head. He'd obeyed because he'd rather deal with his father than an endless revolving door. He hadn't had a choice in that. He'd chosen Veronica, and that had surprised him, but she was beautiful and smart and not at all like the women he'd met in Vegas. Heather Chandler had reminded him too much of them._

_“You're lying.”_

_“Seriously, Merrin? Why the fuck would I lie about that? You think I want to think about him doing that shit to me? I don't. I don't want to think about him at all, but he's here,” JD said. “Look at what he's already done to me. This isn't about science or technology. This is because he's a sick pervert who gets off on hurting people. Young boys, mostly, but he'll still kill others.”_

_Merrin hesitated. JD could see he was getting to him, and he had to keep pushing._

_“I'm still bleeding from some of this. I'll probably die here,” JD went on. “If I die before he finishes, before he... before he rapes me—”_

_“He wouldn't do that.”_

_JD snorted. “Oh, he wouldn't, would he? Then where the hell are my clothes? I don't have to be naked for him to mark me, but I am. Don't kid yourself. He has me. He's marked me. Next time he walks in that door, he'll do a lot worse, and I know it. You know it.”_

_“No,” Merrin whispered, but this time it was obvious he was trying to convince himself._

* * *

“I think we need to know more about Merrin,” Veronica said, watching JD carefully. “You believed him. You thought he'd gone through with it, and I don't think it was just because he looked spooked or because he told you what you really wanted to hear at the time. You might have been wounded and desperate, but you would never have accepted only his word. It's not like you. You're paranoid and suspicious, and you... if your PTSD is still this bad after all these years, at the time, you would never have had a moment's peace if you thought he was still alive, that Merrin could have betrayed you. You were sure he hadn't.”

JD picked up the quaggan. “That your way of asking me if I relapsed after this happened?”

Enid winced. “Did you?”

“No. Well, okay, I let them give me codeine for the pain, but he'd fucked me over pretty good. I still have the scars,” JD said, rubbing at his head like it was hurting. Veronica supposed they should get him more water and some aspirin or something.

Enid folded her arms over her chest. “Okay, I don't want to accuse you of lying—”

“Yet it sounds suspiciously like you're about to.”

“—but where are these scars? And don't forget, there were multiple instances when you weren't shy about changing in front of me. It was a game or a test or something, but more than once you hit me with your shirt after you took it off and tossed it aside. Explain yourself.”

Veronica grimaced. “And I thought the whole Star Wars thing was bad.”

“Enid and I never kissed, not even for a cover, and plenty of people with siblings will tell you they've seen them naked before,” JD said, looking like he might throw the quaggan at her. “And even that is a stretch. Enid has seen me without a shirt. Enid has seen me change pants. Enid has not seen other pertinent details and if she thought about it—”

“You never showed me your back,” she said, swallowing. “What's on your back?”

Veronica was still close enough to lift up his shirt and look for herself. She almost regretted it, since those marks hadn't faded much with time, and it was clear they were no accident. She'd swear it was some kind of logo or something, almost like a tattoo, but it had been carved into his skin. Twice.

“I got rid of others,” JD admitted. “Not these. Of course, he left them in a place most people would think twice about having them removed, so... they kind of had to stay.”

“Veronica?”

“They're... they're almost right on his spine. If they'd been at all careless when they did it, or if this bastard had been...”

“Damn it.”

JD reached for Enid, taking her hand. “It... It never got as bad as Eberhard again. I was... a lot smarter and a lot more paranoid afterward. I was messed up again, but I wasn't ever getting into that same position. That's why Judas Dane had the robes and rarely let clients see him without them. Of course, that was still a few missteps down the road, but I got there. Nearly had it perfect by then. I even had a good assistant to run interference.”

“We can have that again,” Enid said. “I mean, the robes probably won't work, but there are other things. Headdresses. Hoods. I'm sure there's some kind of mythology you could exploit for an identity if you wanted. And we have help, too.”

Veronica chose not to correct her. She didn't know that she'd agree to that, even if she was still very worried about JD. “First this case. This killer. Eberhard. We have to find him. Only we're getting distracted. Come on, JD. Why did you think Merrin was telling the truth? You're usually better at spotting liars, right?”

JD rose, starting to pace, looking weird in his all black outfit while still holding and gesturing unconsciously with a bright blue plush. “When I met Merrin, he didn't strike me as a particularly good liar. He fumbled too often and in the wrong ways to really set me at ease.”

“Yet you went along with him.”

“It wasn't easy. Realistically, the role I was playing wouldn't have fallen for it, but I did my best to find reasons to excuse the risk, mostly that I was a bored rich kid with too much money and not enough principles,” JD shook his head. “It wasn't hard to figure Merrin out. He was a part of the con because he was a true believer. They'd conned him and then set him loose to con others, but he's the part of a pyramid scheme people use as proof that payment is coming, that it's not all a lie. He was sold on it. They had him convinced, and I was convinced of his conviction... and that he was too much of a patsy to have killed anyone. Merrin was meant to be the fall guy for the con. He'd never have shown himself if he was really behind it.”

“And Eberhard?”

“Controlling the strings. The man behind the man... and a few dozen killings. Pretty sure all of those bodies were his.”

“Despite the different MO?” Veronica asked. “The victimology doesn't fit, either. There were kids too decomposed for much chance of recognition without DNA or lots of interagency cooperation which isn't what it is now. The men were tortured, but there's no sign of why the children died.”

“He was just as much of a sadist with the kids, and I bet he left the same kind of marks on them that he did me, but as long as he didn't hit bone when he killed them, a decomposed body won't show the marks that did them in or the torture. It's not that much of a stretch. The difference in ages... he changed his hunting ground, that's all. He went after men involved in the con. Walker was a mistake, too well-connected to disappear completely, but the others? He probably milked them of all their money and then tortured them to death without anyone ever knowing.”

“Hold up,” Enid said. “You just said dozens. There were only thirteen bodies found.”

“I'm betting that was in the basement of _one_ house.”

“There were other houses?” 

“There were at least five others on that lot. They'd staged it to look like a little cul-de-sac, some kind of oasis. The con was that they'd found a way to terraform the desert into profitable, habitable land. They had green lawns and cookie cutter houses, a bit of suburbia in the middle of nowhere. It looked real enough to Merrin, especially since he'd heard from scientists that it was all true and all very hush-hush.”

Veronica winced. Five other houses? How had they missed that, not checked any of the others?

“Eberhard did tell me he had a failsafe built in,” JD said. “It was meant to collapse the site into the desert. He may have used it. If he did, they might not have looked into all of them.”

“Yet you accepted Merrin's word of this Eberhard guy's death?”

JD laughed. Veronica frowned. He sounded insane right now, and he looked it, bent over the quaggan like that. “He introduced himself to me as Guy Eberhard.”

Enid snorted. “What, he found his inspiration for fake names from bad porno vids?”

“I'm thinking he might have. I don't know,” JD said. “Merrin didn't know him as Eberhard. I think he called him... Wiesenheim.”

Veronica put a hand to her head. “How the hell did he pull off stuff like that?”

“A slight accent—also probably fake—and lots of jokes about his unfortunately naïve parents and his own humor,” JD said. “My point was that no one knew his real name. Not when he knew Bud and not when he worked with these jerks. When they listed several unidentified bodies of children and adults, I allowed myself to accept that one of them was his. Especially since after Merrin left to kill him, he never came back, and he swore he would, since he wasn't finished with me yet.”

“Was that the only reason you believed Merrin had killed him?”

JD grimaced. “How is it you even know to do that?”

“It had to be asked, one way or another.”

He sighed. “No, it wasn't the only reason. If Merrin wasn't lying, he had a very good reason for wanting Eberhard dead. And I believed him.”

* * *

_“Does he live out here, or is he still in Vegas?” JD asked, watching Merrin carefully. “He liked the life of a high roller before, when I knew him. Of course, I knew him under another name, one so fake I knew he was lying from the moment I met him. I just wish he'd been lying about the part where he wanted to screw me, you know?”_

_Merrin looked at him. He seemed paler, weaker. Defeated. “He spends most of his time out here in his paradise.”_

_“That's what he calls it, is it?” JD snorted. “I'm not surprised. No one can hear what he does out here, how he hurts people, and then he can conveniently dump the bodies in the basement when he's done. How many do you think are down there? Hundreds?”_

_Merrin gagged. “There aren't bodies down there.”_

_“I dare you to take a look,” JD said. “I know I found at least one in the short time I was down there, but I know there's more. He told me there was more, and while he lies about that... I know he wasn't lying about the killing. He enjoyed telling me that. He wanted to scare me. He wanted me afraid when he comes back.”_

_“What if he's just scaring you?”_

_JD shook his head. “I know he's not. I told you. I knew him before.”_

_“You didn't.”_

_“I remember him offering my father money for me,” JD insisted. He didn't remember if Eberhard won or not. He tried not to remember those times. They were just pain and sweat and things he didn't want to think about. He buried them, he forgot them, and he would give anything for some of those magic drugs that made them go away so well. He couldn't remember months after the bomb. That was fine. He liked that. He'd liked it so much he chased it for a while until Bud's money ran out._

_There was more. He knew there was. He'd just been too damned high when he took it to remember where the hell he put it._

_“Did he... did he take it?” Merrin asked. “Did your father take the money?”_

_JD nodded. That was a lie, but it was close enough to the truth he could use it. “He let them do horrible things to me.”_

_“He was your father.”_

_“He was a monster. Maybe not as much of one as Eberhard. He didn't leave a bunch of bodies around, but... he killed my mother. He did things to me... Merrin, I was finally free of him, and then I told a woman I'd help her... don't let him do this to me again. Just... just let me go. Please. Don't let him do this again.”_

_“You said he killed people.”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Kids.”_

_Oh, fuck, JD thought, his brain catching up to him. Oh, that was just like Eberhard, wasn't it? “You joined him because you needed a cause after you lost your son, didn't you? You don't know where he is, do you?”_

_“He's in that basement, isn't he?” Merrin asked in horror. “He's in the damned basement.”_


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JD discusses the last part of the old case, his escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably a bad idea. I wrote it knowing that and didn't stop myself. *sigh*

* * *

_He'd passed out again. He couldn't remember much after screaming himself hoarse trying to get Merrin to stay, begging him to let him go before he left. JD wasn't stupid. Merrin was very likely to get himself killed, and he didn't want to be trapped here, tied to this bed and left to rot—or to Eberhard—when that happened. JD didn't want to die like this._

_He really didn't want to end up Eberhard's plaything again, either._

_He swallowed, trying to figure out a way to get himself free. The room was plain enough, thick curtains mostly covering the window, though cracks of light showed in the middle and underneath. He could see a framed picture or painting of some kind across the room, but it was too dark for him to get much of a sense of it._

_Huh. There was furniture there, too, though he wasn't sure why. Eberhard, maybe? He might have lots of sick instruments of torture in those drawers. That would be fitting, wouldn't it?_

_JD grimaced, looking up at his hands again. His wrists looked bad, torn up and bloody, and he knew that would likely scar. He might have to try and do something about that, since he wasn't about to cover his wrists constantly._

_He could always move somewhere where the weather was pretty mild all the time, maybe where it rained so he would have an excuse for long sleeves all year round._

_That was if he lived, so he had to find a way to live first._

_He heard something and tried to find the source, but wherever the door was in this place, his current position kept him from seeing it. He could only wait, tense, as the footfalls came across the carpet._

_He didn't think he'd be relieved to see Merrin, but he was._

_For half a second before he registered just how deranged the other man looked. He was pale enough he looked like he belonged in a horror film, living up to the cliché of being white like a sheet, and he shook like crazy, looking like he was either going to fall down or have something burst out of him any second now._

_“Merrin?”_

_“He's dead,” Merrin said. “I killed him.”_

_“You killed him?”_

_“I found him, and I shot him. I shot him and shot him and shot him...”_

_JD frowned. That didn't seem like Merrin at all. “Where did you get the gun? And... do you even know who you killed? You're sure it was the right one? What if you killed the chauffeur and not the one who actually killed those kids?”_

_“Killed the chauffeur, too,” Merrin said, his eyes dancing with lunatic delight. “Killed every one of them I could find.”_

_Damn. JD didn't know what to think of that. “You killed... all of them?”_

_“Oh, yes. Well, not the scientists. They're too smart to die. But the others... the ones that helped him, the ones that lied to me... him. Him I killed and killed again. I shot him so many times... I told him it was for my son. He laughed. You believe that? He laughed.”_

_JD did, but he still found it hard to believe any of this was real. “Merrin, I need you to—”_

_“All of it has to end, Mr. Dedman. So you will be one of the last pieces—”_

_“No, Merrin. Don't you fucking dare. Don't do this. You'd be doing what he wants. You can't kill me. You need to let me go.”_

_Merrin shook his head, lifting the gun and pointing it at JD with a shaking hand. “I can't.”_

* * *

“One of those kids was Merrin's?” Enid asked, feeling a bit queasy. She didn't think she wanted to know. She didn't, actually, not completely. She knew she had to know. She had to do this for her brother. Jay needed her—she didn't want to admit that he needed Veronica, but he kind of did—and they had to find this guy.

So she had to know about Merrin. She hadn't seen any mention of him having a kid or being linked to any of the bodies found with Walker. She didn't know if the FBI had ever noticed. She was a bit tempted to put in an order to reopen it.

It wasn't _that_ nefarious to get a cold case worked, right?

And DNA was a good enough reason for them to take another look. What if they could identify the kids now? That was worth it, wasn't it?

“I don't know if it was Merrin's kid,” Jay said. “He might not even have had a kid at all. Still, it would have been like Eberhard, I think, to pick someone he'd already hurt before and use him again. He would have gotten off on it—stealing his son and keeping him from ever knowing the boy's fate—but was that boy real and was he actually in that mass grave? I have no idea. I never did get a chance to ask Eberhard. I only saw Merrin. He came back, shaking and white and said Eberhard was dead, that it was over.” 

Veronica frowned. “And yet you didn't go checking the bodies or the other basements?”

Admittedly, that didn't sound like Jay to Enid, either. Her brother would have looked. He would have hunted down that guy's body. He had to, right? Why wouldn't he have done that?

“Well... I might have,” Jay agreed, “if I was still at the site, but apparently when I was unconscious, they took me back to Vegas and never bothered to tell me.”

“They brought you back to Vegas?” Veronica asked, and Enid had to wonder about that, too. “Why would they do that?”

“I don't know,” Jay muttered. “I thought I was in one of the houses, but when I dragged myself out of the room—and I do mean dragged, it was kind of a thing—I found I was in the middle of a Vegas casino. It was... a bit of a shock,” JD said, rubbing at his head. “I don't remember much of what happened after I realized it was a casino. I think I passed out again.”

“You think?” Veronica sounded suspicious. Enid didn't want to be, but it didn't sound right, either.

“Things get fuzzy after Merrin shot me.”

Enid put her hands over her face, dragging them down and trying not to scream. “Are you telling me you got _shot?_ You only now mention that you were _shot?_ What the hell is wrong with you?”

Jay sighed. “Things are all very sketchy when it comes to Vegas. I remember the trip with my mother best, but then as hard as it was to deal with her 'let's cram in good times before the bad ones come' mentality, it wasn't half as bad as the stuff that came later that I did try and forget if I didn't manage to lose parts of it to drugs and pain and... trauma. So I forgot Merrin shot me. I didn't exactly love remembering my time in that room, okay?”

“You forgot he shot you?” Enid demanded. How the hell did anyone forget they got shot?

Jay flinched. “Not exactly. It's just... another part I'd rather not remember. But... in case you're wondering, it is part of why I believed he'd killed Eberhard. He told me he'd cleaned house, and then the asshole shot me. Twice. One missed. The other didn't. And fortunately for me, the gun was empty, or he would have shot me a lot more.”

Enid was more than a little queasy now. “I don't like hearing about you getting shot. Once was bad enough, but this was before I even knew you. What if we never met?”

“We did, though.”

Enid shook her head. “I'm not sure that's good enough.”

“You'd never know to miss me, so you're fine,” Jay said. “Though next thing you know, you'll remember this fascinating moment in your childhood where you helped a drunk guy to the exit for the promise of twenty bucks and he stiffed you.”

“I would never have taken less than fifty, especially if you were obviously bleeding, and I'd have kicked you in the shin if you did stiff me which is what I did to that jerk that... Oh.”

* * *

_She wasn't supposed to be in the casino when her mother was dealing. Her grandparents were supposed to watch her, and if not them, than her aunt. Enid didn't like her aunt, though. That lady was always looking down her nose and muttering stuff about how her mother deserved it for working in a casino._

_Enid didn't think much of gambling, and her mother could have done better with her life, she supposed, but she liked watching her mother deal. She had so many cool shuffling tricks, and Enid loved watching them all._

_She also enjoyed pissing off the casino's security by getting past them every single time she tried. They had yet to stop her, even though they kept telling her mother not to bring her along. Enid didn't need to be brought anywhere. She made her own way._

_She leaned over the balcony, looking down at her mother. She would rather watch from a closer spot, but this place worked. No one made her move, if they saw her at all. She liked it here, much better than home at her aunt's._

_She was watching when she heard the first loud bang. She frowned, looking around her in confusion. The high rollers were the only ones who stayed up here, and security said you weren't supposed to hear anything from those rooms, no matter what they got up to. She'd asked her mother what that meant, but her mom said she was too young to know._

_She asked her grandparents, and they giggled, promising to tell her when she got older, like they swore they'd explain all of their jokes when she was old enough._

_She grimaced, knowing much more about their kinds of jokes than they realized. She had a feeling that those fancy dressed ladies that hung out in the hotel bar and went up to the rooms with men they just met had something to do with it._

_She saw a man coming up the hallway, and she thought he must be on some kind of drugs. He looked sick. He kept muttering to himself about ending it, and she hid back against the rail, hoping he wouldn't see her._

_He went by, and Enid turned back to find her mother again. She wished her mom had a different outfit. From here, she could see right down her blouse, and it wasn't right._

_Something thudded against the wall, and she jumped, looking back to see a boy standing there. He looked about as good as the one who'd been high._

_And those were definitely not his clothes._

_He stumbled to the railing and looked down. “The fuck. A casino? How the hell did I get to a casino?”_

_“The usual way, I bet,” Enid muttered. “How much did you have to drink? Or were you high with your client?”_

_“My client was a woman,” he said. Then he slid down to the floor and stayed there long enough to scare her._

* * *

_Enid considered going to get water to dump on him, but she didn't feel like walking that far, and not for this guy. She didn't want him staying here, either. They'd find her if he didn't move. It would take them a bit to find him, but security or the maid would always do it, sooner or later. That was why Enid knew to move around._

_And move around she did, always a bit ahead of the jerks in security and dodging the maids unless she could swipe mints from their carts. She did like doing that, too, and it was always nice to keep a mint stash with her while she watched her mother deal._

_She looked at the kid again. He was a bit familiar somehow, but she saw a lot of people in the casino. She didn't know him._

_She gave his cheek a pat, trying to avoid the blood on the side of his face. That was gross. She hated blood. This was dried, so it might not be so bad, but if she touched it, she'd puke for sure. Ew. “Come on. Wakey-wakey.”_

_His eyes fluttered open, and he frowned. “What... who...”_

_“You passed out in the casino. Never a good idea. Security finds you, they'll be very pissed.”_

_“Hmm. Maybe they shouldn't find me,” he whispered, trying to get himself up onto his feet. “Which casino is this? Where is... the elevator? There a map somewhere?”_

_“If that's a hint, forget it. You can do that on your own. I'm not going to risk getting caught for you,” she muttered. “It's not worth it.”_

_“And if I made it worth it?” he asked, stumbling a few steps and stopping to lean against the wall, looking around in confusion again. “Say... twenty dollars?”_

_She snorted. “Try a hundred.”_

_“Fifty.”_

_“Fifty,” he agreed, almost falling over. She didn't like this, but fifty dollars was fifty dollars, and she'd had her eye on things her mother would never buy her, so she'd do this. Fifty dollars. She couldn't wait for it._

_“What happened to your face?” she asked, helping him back up. He was way too heavy for her to lift, but he seemed to stay on his own feet as long as he had her to walk in front of him and hold his hands._

_“Someone hit me. I think.”_

_“You think?”_

_“What do you want, kid? A play-by-play? Look, things get a little fuzzy about then. Just help me find the elevator.”_

_“You probably need a doctor.”_

_“You're a genius,” he muttered, and she got tempted to flip him off, but she was still holding his hands and she didn't want him falling on her. Or not giving her the money._

_“Did the woman hurt you? Your client?”_

_He leaned over her head. “I'm not a whore, no matter what you think. That's not what this was. I just... I did the right thing for once, and I paid for it. Oh, did I pay...”_

_She frowned, but he didn't say anything else before they reached the elevator. She pushed the button and let the doors open before tugging him inside. She wondered if he deserved it. He was in someone else's clothes, and someone had hurt him, but maybe they should have, if he was only now doing the right thing._

_She pressed the button for the lobby. “You don't look old enough to be here.”_

_He snorted. “And you are?”_

_“That's different. My mom works here. You don't even know where we are.”_

_“Not my fault someone hit me over the head.”_

_She looked up at him. “Why did he do it?”_

_“I found a dead body. A lot of them, actually. I should make a map. Buried treasure in the desert...”_

_“Jerk.”_

_He ruffled her hair, and she would have hit him if he hadn't almost fallen over afterward. She propped him up and he gave her a weak smile. “You've got spirit. That's a dangerous thing to have. Be careful. Only show it around the right people.”_

_Enid frowned. “What are you talking about?”_

_The elevator stopped, and he didn't answer, stumbling away from her instead. She followed after him, wanting an explanation and her money._

_“What is wrong with you?” she asked, taking his hands before he fell again. “You're not even going to make it to the door.”_

_“Have to. Can't be here if either of them come back again.”_

_“Who?”_

_He shook his head. “You are better off not knowing. People shouldn't think you helped me, ever. If they knew you did, you'd be in trouble. I'm not sure he's only about boys. Assumed he was, but he might not be. And the other one... he's just insane. They might be dead, but I don't know...”_

_“You're crazy,” Enid said, because crazy was better than scary. She wasn't scared. She was brave. She was going to get him to the door and get her money._

_“I shouldn't have asked for your help,” he said. “I forgot I lied... not good. Not good. Just... forget it. Stay here.”_

_“I want my fifty dollars.”_

_“Oh. That. I don't actually have any money on me.”_

_“Jerk,” Enid repeated, turning to kick him in the shin and letting him collapse right there. Security swooped in, picking him up, and dragging him toward the doors. They threw him out, and he landed on the sidewalk, not moving._

_She bit her lip, telling herself she didn't care._

_“Enid Marie Carver, you are in so much trouble, young lady,” her mother said, and Enid didn't have a chance to protest as her mother led her away._

* * *

“So you two _did_ meet before?” Veronica asked, looking between Enid and JD, trying to make sense of what had just happened. “You met in Vegas before you found him and went to work for him?”

Enid shrugged. “I didn't really remember it. I was just a kid at the time, and I try not to think about blood, thank you very much. It happened to be all over that guy's head, but he was going to give me fifty dollars, and I could be bribed as a young girl.”

JD held up the quaggan. “I think you still can be.”

“Shut up.”

“You saved JD after he was shot?”

“I didn't know he'd been shot,” Enid said, defensive. “I only saw the wound on his head. And I'd almost forgotten all about him. He was by far not the weirdest person I met in the casinos. Mom hated when I'd go over there, but I liked it. I'd watch her deal—she used to do tricks sometimes, if she had a good group—and I avoided my aunt.”

“Hmm. Not sorry she went to cancer, are you?” JD asked, and Enid shrugged. “She judged your mom for having a kid on her own, didn't she?”

“My aunt Penny believed my mom got what was coming to her as a casino worker. My grandparents weren't stupid like that, and they fought with her about it, and so did my uncles and my other aunt, but Penny was... not a nice woman.”

“Just smiled like it for the cameras,” JD said, and Veronica frowned before he pointed to the wall. She'd seen it earlier but not paid much attention to it, the large generational family portrait hanging there. Enid's grandparents, she assumed, with all of their kids and their kids' kids, including one very unmistakable Enid as the youngest in the bunch. “You were kind of cute back then, if rather mercenary.”

“You weren't cute at all.”

He shrugged. “I'd been shot and hit over the head. I'm surprised I was even half-conscious, but then I seem to have a remarkable ability to keep moving despite seemingly mortal wounds.”

Veronica didn't think he should have said that one to Enid. Still, it explained something else for her, the last piece. “You almost died, and by the time you were in a state to do anything about it, you couldn't get close to the crime scene and confirm that Eberhard was dead.”

He looked away, walking toward the window. “As I said, things got fuzzy after I got shot. I don't really remember getting out of the casino... I woke up in the hospital with people demanding my name and what I'd done to get shot.”

Veronica sighed. “I'd bet you didn't give them one. Did you feed them a line about having amnesia?”

“Oh, it was very, very convenient for me at the time,” JD said. “I played that up until I got released from the hospital. They had their theories, of course, but they couldn't prove anything, and they didn't connect me to Merrin. They figured since I was at the casino, I was either a gambler who bet too much of the wrong person's money... or a prostitute.”

“So you didn't tell them where the site was?”

He shook his head. “I was having a very convenient case of amnesia, and I wasn't about to let them connect me to that mess.”

“Then how did they know about it?”

He shrugged. “I assumed it was Merrin when he went nuts. I could only get at newspaper reports, couldn't get near the site or the case files, didn't have a hacker like I do now, and I'd just been shot. I didn't have many options then, either. I had to leave. I didn't even go back to Walker for my fee. I just walked away, left Vegas far behind me.”

“And you accepted Eberhard's death.”

He nodded. “I was pretty vulnerable there in the hospital. He could have found me easily enough if he was still alive. Merrin was... completely unhinged, and it seemed like he'd done it all. The papers mentioned other remains besides Walker's that were unidentifiable—not just the kids—and since no one knew the real Eberhard... It seemed like it had to be true.”

“With your paranoia, you still let it go?”

He leaned his head against the window. “What do you want me to say, Veronica? I fucked up. I should have known he was still alive. I didn't. I suspected it, sometimes, but I'd try and persuade myself again, and if it didn't work, I'd drink until the doubts went away. I... You've seen how well I handle Vegas. I couldn't come back, couldn't risk looking into the files or hunting him. He was a ghost, and I felt the same way about him as I did Bud. Sometimes I think that bastard is still out there, even though I remember them pronouncing him at the scene. I basically saw his death, but I can't always accept that, so why was Eberhard any different? He's just a different monster from my nightmares.”

Veronica winced, tempted to reach out to him to comfort him again, but she didn't. “Only this one is still alive.”


	15. Chapter 15

* * *

“So as resident hacker, I can get the official file, though that vague reference for the newspaper isn't going to be as easy,” Enid said, forcing herself away from her brother and to the computer. She didn't want to do it, but she also didn't want to remember Jay the way she'd seen him in the casino. She knew people would argue she should have recognized him when she first met him again, that day he hired her without warning, but she hadn't, and she was going to blame that on the blood that had been on him.

Head wounds bled a lot, and she hated blood, so she'd barely looked at him.

“You have anything that will narrow that down at all?” Veronica asked, and then she frowned. “I thought I told you not to hack the FBI. I can get that file—”

“I already did,” Enid said, smiling to Veronica's groan and Jay's smirk. He looked a bit more like himself now, though she was sure that was an act, and she should be angrier about that. She was a bit relieved to see part of the mask back in place, even if she shouldn't be.

Jay was a mess, and that wasn't really a secret—she'd known from the start that something was off with him, he was faking being a psychic, after all—but seeing him like this frightened her, and she didn't like being scared.

“Did someone already get you coffee?”

“Yes, but I always take more. Or slushies, if the good coffee places are closed. Really, there should be more that are twenty-four hours,” she said, sighing. “I would love that, but even in Las Vegas with all the casinos and all night gambling, no good coffee in the middle of the night. It's a crime.”

“Oh, please,” Jay said. “Like that's the only reason you hate Vegas.”

Enid reached for her now cold cup of coffee. “I have many reasons to hate Vegas, though yours are definitely worse. Veronica, do you hate Vegas?”

“This is my first time here,” Veronica said, shrugging.

“Liar. You were here shortly before you married that lawyer. Something like a bachelorette party, only you were by yourself, so I suspect it wasn't much fun though I can't prove it,” Jay told her, watching her frown. “That was during the phase where I was watching you from a considerable distance to make sure you weren't marrying a creep. And while he was painfully stupid and boring, there was no real reason not to marry him besides the whole not loving him thing.”

“That would be sweet if it wasn't also creepy,” Enid told him, and he rolled his eyes.

“I apparently can't be one without the other, so just leave it alone,” he said, coming over to her side. He set the quaggan on the table and looked at her. “The casino... it was the one your mother worked at, right?”

“Yes. I believe I said that.”

“And very likely where she met Bud.”

Enid flinched. “Um. No. I am almost certain she switched casinos after that one, but I'm pretty sure that time was during the Vegas trip you almost... like. The one where your mother was still alive. Timing's about right.”

Jay nodded. “Makes sense. Was that casino also the one that has the ban on Bud?”

She shook her head. “No, they tore that place down and replaced it with another. End of an era, some said, but they were really struggling to convert it to the 'family friendly' type place that is expected of Vegas these days, no matter what the slogan is.”

“Gambling as a family vacation. Great idea.”

“Exactly,” Enid said. “This has a point, doesn't it?”

“It does.” He leaned back against the table. “First trip through, we didn't stay at a casino. My mom didn't want to, and they fought about it. She won, but he was in a mood, and that was part of why she did the touristy crap and kept me away from him. That—the second time, I don't know what casino it was because I was never allowed outside of our room. I tried to figure it out from the view, but I can only be sure of which ones it wasn't.”

Enid was still waiting for the point, as much as she did want to know more about her brother. “I suppose I could look them up and—”

“But for that stuff to go on with the private poker games and the rest of it, for them to have recruited me from there, for Eberhard to be able to bring me back without anyone noticing—I think he has some tie to that casino. Not just a high roller that they looked the other way with, but an actual financial interest somewhere. His name should be on the board of directors.”

“And that would be where we'd find his real name?” Veronica asked, coming over to join them.

“No. He said he had aliases and was a master at them, and that part, at least, I believe. He'd been able to set up that con job but he'd also been kidnapping, torturing, and killing kids for years before he did that, and that's not something you get away, not on that kind of scale.”

“He probably kidnapped kids across multiple state lines,” Veronica said. “That would explain a lot of it, too since part of the problem was jurisdiction and lack of agency cooperation.”

Jay sighed. “I know that, but just because Eberhard and Weisenheim were obvious aliases didn't mean all of his were. That bastard struck me as too damned careful for that. He was sick, but deliberate about it, calculated... this guy... I don't know. There was something about the way he spoke... every word had a purpose. He didn't say things by accident. It...”

“Jay, squeeze the quaggan.”

He snorted. “It's not that. Remembering is as hard as putting a finger on the sense I had and why, especially under those circumstances. He wasn't insane in the way that you'd define it... he was a sadist, likely a sociopath, but he was just so... controlled. Like... even when he was giving into his sickness he was playing a part.”

“Like he was faking it?” Veronica asked. “Undercover?”

“No. Hell, no. That guy was definitely a pervert. I just... there was something about the way he spoke... I think he was so into his acts he didn't let them slip, ever. He might have, if he'd gotten past cutting me to where he was actually acting out his twisted fantasies, but I almost think he'd gotten so far into it he had himself fooled. That was the person he was when he was hurting people, and it was all part of this weird compartmentalization or something, almost a split personality but he was more than a little aware of what was going on.”

Enid looked up at him. “Um... I'm still confused, and you didn't even use the psychobabble this time.”

He ran a hand over his face. “I'm not... maybe he was low level mob. That's what they assumed when they found the bodies. Mob connection. And it is Vegas. The mob basically _built_ Vegas, even if they deny that.”

“Well,” Veronica said. “It would explain a few things. His ability to have so many rotating aliases, the killing he'd perfected and gotten away with for years, and the kind of power and control he had. It might even explain the personality you're talking about. He would have had one for all the mob people he interacted with, but he'd probably keep the side you saw of him to himself or a select few unless he wanted his own organization to turn on him.”

“Like the mob never touched on prostitution or human trafficking,” Enid muttered, reaching for her coffee.

“A lot of criminals draw the line at crimes against kids,” Veronica said. “And mob connections tend to be made by family. They value children highly. They wouldn't want someone around who used them and carved them up.”

“Oh,” Enid said. “That mark on your back... that's, what, his signature? There could be other bodies with that on them and we could... um... connect them to him.”

JD went pale again, and she thought he really wanted to tell her no, but he managed to force himself to nod before he walked away. The bathroom door shut a bit loudly behind him, and Enid flinched, hoping this wasn't as bad as she thought it was.

“Go ahead and look,” Veronica said. “As much as none of us wants to know, we all need to.”

* * *

His head was clear, and he hated it.

The memories were all back in force, ready to give him their nightmares if he only allowed them the smallest thought, and it was impossible not to think of them discussing Eberhard or even Vegas. Vegas where he desperately wished that the things he remembered were a fevered delusion after coming as close as he had to starving, that his father had only used mind games to taunt him and none of those winners had actually gotten the prize.

He sometimes managed to believe that. It was one of his favorite lies.

_“I suppose it was rather a blur for you when your father stopped winning.”_

He wanted the blur. He didn't want details and faces and connections. He would have more nightmares and more monsters to fear if he could remember clearly, so he didn't. He refused to, no matter how much his brain tried to make him do it.

He ran the water, cupped his hands under it and splashed it on his face, trying to control the push to find something, _anything,_ to drown out the images and feelings returning to his mind. He wanted to be drunk. He wanted to be high.

He wanted to be dead.

The door banged open behind him, and he almost jumped, turning back to glare at the woman who entered, thrown again when it wasn't Enid or Veronica. Maisie Carver, hungover and in need of somewhere to puke, he assumed, though the way she stared at him it looked like she might not do anything else.

“Who the hell are you? What are you doing here?”

He didn't bother answering that. She might not even remember it. “You know you have family back east, even if your parents and favorite brother have passed away,” he told her. “There's nothing to keep you here, not even Enid. She hates Vegas. She's only here for you.”

Carver fixed him with a dark look. “I don't know who the hell you think you are, but you don't know me and you don't know Enid and—”

“Jay?” Enid asked, poking her head in around the corner. “I have a name for you and—Oh. Mom. You're awake.”

“You let him in here?”

Enid groaned. “God, Mom, how drunk are you? You don't recognize my boss? How could you forget how you embarrassed yourself when you came to visit, anyway? I certainly didn't. It was humiliating, but at least Jay has a sense of humor.”

“You're the psychic?”

JD forced a smile. “If you insist.”

She frowned. “You're the one that believes in that nonsense, not me. And Enid was a fool to ever work for you. You are disgusting and a disgrace and—”

“Your arrangement with the local liquor store is really unsettling, and if you want to talk about disgrace, we can go there, but I don't think you want me to.”

Enid shook her head. “Oh, please, _please_ tell me you did not do that, Mom. What good is alcohol if you're selling yourself to get it? It's not drowning your pain, it's adding to it. How could you?”

“You don't understand—”

“If you're about to claim that you have a real relationship with that man, I think you can skip it,” JD told her. “There's nothing ethical about the arrangement, as he's giving you money or feeding your addiction, and if he really cared about you, he'd be doing what Enid is—trying to stop you.”

“Screw you,” Carver snapped, marching out of the room.

He looked at Enid. “Um... About that. I was—”

She shook her head. “Don't bother. I was wondering where the money kept coming from. Now I know. And I can find this guy and convince him to get out of her life.”

“You?”

Enid frowned, offended. “What, you think I can't?”

“Your nefarious side does run more toward computers and wedding planning.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, I'll get Veronica to intimidate him.”

“Oh. And her non-existent badge is going to accomplish that?”

“You could do better?”

“You know I could,” he told her, and she snorted. He gave her a smile. “Oh, I know you think I don't look like much, but that actually helps my cause. I'd look just the right side of deranged when I make my implications and that would make whoever it is piss his pants and agree to not see your mother again.”

Enid gave him a bit of a smile. “I think I like the idea, but it had better be on video.”

“Also, I suggested she move back east with your other uncles and aunts for support. She'd be better off. You might continue to press the idea,” he told her, and Enid gaped at him, her mouth moving like she wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

* * *

“Your mother just stormed out,” Veronica said, looking up from Enid's quaggan. She kind of liked the thing, even if she had no idea what it really was. “You want to go after her?”

“Not right now,” Enid said. “I'm going to find her new boyfriend and make his life miserable for facilitating her addiction, but first I have to find him and it had better not be one of those guys actually at that liquor store, because they're straight up gross.”

Veronica frowned. “What?”

“My brother has been up to his old habits and pinpointed exactly how my mother was getting her booze after I took control of her money,” Enid said. She shook her head. “It's kind of obvious now that I think about it, but he had it in five seconds again. God, sometimes I really—it's impressive. It is. I'm just a bit pissed off. I should have figured it out myself.”

“It was a quick guess that hit home well. They don't always work,” JD said as he came back into the room. He looked a bit better than before, but honestly, that didn't say much, Veronica had to admit. “Half of what I do—what I did—was just a good guess. This was, too.”

“Makes sense.”

“My mom's problems can wait,” Enid said, sitting back down. “She's self-destructing, but she's only really hurting herself. This guy could be torturing another kid as we speak.”

Veronica grimaced. She didn't want to think about that, but it was true. Even if this guy was a senator now, he probably hadn't given up on his old ways. He'd gotten away with murder for many years now, over and over again, and he was probably very overconfident by now, thinking no one and nothing could stop him.

Hell, why would he run for the senate without believing that? He had to think no one would stop him, that no amount of public scrutiny would ever expose his misdeeds.

“I'm going to be digging for a bit,” Enid said, reaching for her coffee and wincing when she took a sip. “I could use some refills.”

“Veronica can make you a pot.”

“Excuse me?” Veronica demanded. “Who among us in the actual agent here, even if I'm on leave and probably about to opt for retirement? I am not some errand girl for you to order around, JD.”

He gave her a thin smile. “No, you're not.”

“And I was thinking more like someone going to the good place and getting me some as soon as they open again,” Enid said, shaking her head. “I don't want just a pot, though I do want some now. Or a slushie. Come on. I hack, the least you could do is supply me with sustenance. Or honor your promise.”

Veronica sighed. “I almost wish you had bled out in that parking lot.”

Enid smirked. “I'm sure.”

“I'll go,” JD said, and Veronica frowned at him. He'd been way too eager to volunteer, and that was not a good sign, not with him in this state. He'd been too much of a mess when he came in, and he wasn't faring much better even after his nap. He'd zoned out on them, twice.

No. Whatever he was planning on was not good, even if it was just disappearing again.

“You're not going anywhere by yourself,” Veronica told him, watching his eyes widen.

“I am not going anywhere with you.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Oh, really? And where were you planning on going, then? Disappearing from us for good this time or just doing something stupid like using yourself as bait to draw this guy out?”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They continue to argue over the next step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, this one... I'm not sure what I can say here, though some warning is probably necessary.

* * *

“You're not really thinking of doing that, are you?” Enid asked. “Did you forget what happened last time? You were stabbed. Veronica was kidnapped and tortured. I got shot. That is not happening again. Ever.”

“I was thinking that the idea of a slushie sounded like a good way to get rid of the taste of vomit, and that I wanted to clear my head,” JD said. He had a nice, calm explanation for it, even if it was far from believable.

Veronica wanted to smack him. Didn't he had any idea what would do to them? They'd already lost him once, and that was not acceptable. She'd told him that before. She wasn't willing to lose him. He was a part of her life, and she wanted him in it.

Not dead. Not using himself as bait when he was barely able to function. At best, he was insane, and if not insane, then he was suicidal, and she wasn't going to let him do it.

“Keep looking for Eberhard's real identity on any of the board of any of those casinos and the newspaper,” Veronica said. “JD and I will go get you another drink. I think someone could use a bit of fresh air.”

“Okay, but you're not actually going to go off and do the stuff he was thinking of without me, right? Because he's not allowed to be bait, and I am not going to lose him. I want more quaggans, and he's family and I don't like blood and—”

“We're not going to get shot. We're getting slushies,” JD told her. “No one is going to kill us over a convenience store drink. And I could go without Veronica, but you are both being ridiculous about this, so I guess I'm stuck going with Veronica.”

She eyed him. He was accepting this way too easily. She wasn't sure she trusted that. JD had to have some kind of plan to go around her. She just didn't know what that was.

“Oh, I see,” Enid said. “You two are going to go have a private little make out session, are you?”

JD flipped her off and walked out the door, slamming it shut behind him. Veronica gave Enid a look, and the other woman gestured to the door. Veronica almost flipped her off, but she knew if she delayed for any longer, JD would leave without her, and he couldn't do that. He would get himself killed.

She yanked the door open and ran off after him. She refused to yell after him, but she wasn't about to let him escape, either. She reached him at his motorcycle, stopping short as she did. This was disconcertingly familiar, him with one of them. She was back at their second meeting, outside the convenience store.

“I almost think I should ask you for a cigarette and talk about static,” Veronica said, feeling strange.

“Well, as you know, I don't smoke anymore,” he said. “Though static... our lives still have it. Lots of it.”

“A lot more than I ever knew,” she said, and he winced.

“What... what Bud did... what Eberhard did... it doesn't excuse what I did.”

“I know it doesn't,” Veronica said. JD was screwed up, and he had been through hell, but what he'd been through didn't justify murder. Maybe, in a stretch, it would have made Bud's death understandable, but JD hadn't killed Bud. He'd had a part in killing Heather, and he'd arranged for the deaths of Ram and Kurt, even if he only pulled the trigger on one of them.

“I didn't want you or Enid involved in this.”

“Tough shit,” Veronica told him. “We are, and you can't just shut us out of it. That's not how it works. You're not alone, and as much as you might not think it is, that's a good thing.” 

“Not really. If I go, no big loss. I'm dead anyway. Enid, once she stopped being nefarious, could do all sorts of things to better humanity. And you... you're still meant for more.”

Veronica snorted. “What, like having my boss turn psycho and stalk me, setting his kid up to become a murderer who reenacted Heather Chandler's death on unsuspecting teenage girls?”

“That is not your fault.”

“If I'd told the truth, even once—”

“It wasn't about the truth, no matter what that kid claimed. He was pissed because his father loved you instead of his mother, that's it. It's not a glamorous motive, and he could pretend he was playing with higher morals, but it was never really about that,” JD said, and she thought he was about to touch her face, caress her cheek and comfort her. She wanted it, even if she knew better.

He didn't move.

* * *

_“I think this is one of my best,” Eberhard said, his finger moving along the cut on JD's back. He bit down hard on his lip, refusing to cry out. That was what the bastard wanted. JD could tell with the way he was pushing down on the mark as he traced it. He wanted JD to hurt, wanted him to scream. That was part of this game no matter who was playing it._

_“Of course, so is this,” Eberhard went on, his fingers moving to the other side of JD's spine and tracing that mark there. “A fine one, one of the best I've ever made, and I've had some practice, so I know.”_

_“You're sick.”_

_“You're so amusing,” Eberhard said, leaning over him. “Surely you have a better insult than that. I know you had a bit of a head wound, but that's hardly an excuse. Show me some of your wit. You did before.”_

_“You're just trying to screw with my head. I don't remember you ever winning any of those poker games, and while I'm sure you wanted to, you didn't,” JD said. “I can see why you'd be bitter. You're one hell of a pervert, but you didn't get a chance before, and I promise you—you won't get one now.”_

_Eberhard laughed, moving closer and pressing up against him, letting his head rest next to JD's, his breath coming out hot on his face with the little that separated them. He had the sense that the bastard was going to lick him or something just as sick any second now. “That's what you want to believe, isn't it? That none of them had you when I'm almost certain all of them did. I think your father watched every time. He may have recorded it, too. I wonder if they ever found that. I'm sure you didn't, or you'd know exactly what happened back then.”_

_JD couldn't do much, not tied up and hurting the way he was, but he was still too angry to let that slide. He elbowed Eberhard as hard as he could, telling himself it was worth the pain traveling up his arm, since the bastard was swearing at him and had been forced to back off for a bit._

_Trouble was, it didn't change anything. Eberhard could be right about all of it. Bud probably had watched it. He liked filming his demolitions, and what was JD if not one long demolition in his eyes?_

_“You shouldn't do that.”_

_“What, fight you? I thought that was what you wanted.”_

_“Oh, it is,” Eberhard assured him. “I like a good fight in my companions. The ones who don't fight aren't worth it. I've tried that before, and it's just not enough.”_

_“I stand by what I said. You're sick.”_

_“So you like to say,” Eberhard said, leaning in again, but this time when he did, he pressed his lips against JD's._

_Panicked, JD shoved at him, moving back and hitting his head against the wood behind him. He gagged, turning his head away and trying to keep his arm in front of it, not wanting that bastard to have another chance at him._

_“You know you won't win,” Eberhard said, touching his hand to JD's arm. “I have you where I want you. You can't stop me from getting everything I want, but you still try.”_

_“I suppose you think that makes me stupid, does it?”_

_“Charming. A bit naïve, but then I like that mix of innocence to someone like you. After all, I know you're not pure.”_

_“You bastard.”_

_“I am tempted to put these marks all along your back,” Eberhard said, moving his hand to JD's spine, tracing over the bones. “I could... or I could just take what I want. Which would you prefer?”_

* * *

It took Veronica longer than she wanted to admit to realize that JD had zoned out on her again. She'd thought it was just a bit of awkwardness, the remnants of what they were before mixing with what they very much weren't now and making for uncomfortable silences and half-finished gestures along with memories that never quit.

Like his, now, taking him wherever the hell he was instead of standing next to her.

She reached over and put her hand on his arm, looking at his face for some sign he'd felt her touch, but he didn't seem to be aware of it. “JD?”

Though she was more or less a wreck herself at the best of times, she didn't have much experience with working someone through moments like this. She knew her shrink would have plenty to say on that subject, but Veronica wasn't really the one people looked for when it came to support. That usually went to her fellow agents, or God help them, even Richards.

Still, she wasn't an idiot, and she had dealt with traumatized witnesses before, just... not in a while, and not ones she had a mixed history with, like she did with him. This could go wrong in so many ways, but she had to hope it wouldn't.

“JD,” she repeated, adding her other hand to his and giving it a slight squeeze, refusing to shake him or spook him. “Should I go get your sister's quaggan? Somehow that seems to help better than I do and if you'd like that—though there's always a cigarette lighter and pain and—God, what am I saying?”

JD blinked, backing away from her and breaking contact. He frowned at her, and from the slow breaths he took, she figured he was calming himself again. “Veronica.”

She nodded, tempted to ask him if he knew where he was or how desperate he looked for a hug, but she didn't have the heart to tease him right now. He was still such a mess.

“I have a car,” she began, looking at him and feeling stupid and unequal to helping him.

“I know you have a car. It's a bland, generic thing, no personality or style, but you were at the height of your FBI days, so you would think it was the right choice. I'm a bit disappointed you didn't choose something wilder when you got your rental, but most rental car companies lack individuality and soul as well.”

He sounded a lot more like himself there, and she found herself smiling, even if she could tell it was all an act because he wasn't any more put together than he had been two seconds before.

“I wasn't—you're making this harder than it should be,” she said, though he was probably glad of the distraction from his flashback. She swallowed. “You know that your bike is not the easiest way to get slushies, right? My rental would be a lot nicer.”

He laughed. “You and I both know we're not going for slushies.”

“Really?” Veronica asked. “And what would make you so sure of that? I told you very clearly that you weren't going to get yourself killed, which means you are not going in as bait, and you won't convince me to go along with—”

The touch he hadn't given her before came along with a hell of a lot more, his lips covering hers the way he'd done before, gentler than when he'd tried to keep her after the shooting or in that damned boiler room, but still insistent, demanding, wasn't that what they called it in romance novels?

How the hell did he go from fugue to fantasy kiss in a few short seconds?

No, he wasn't doing this. She wasn't letting him. Maybe if things were different, but he couldn't use that against her again, and not after he'd zoned out like he had. He had to be planning on getting himself killed to do it, and she refused to let that happen.

She forced herself back out of the kiss. “You are not distracting me like that again, asshole.”

He held onto her, leaning his head against hers. “I needed to remember what that felt like when it wasn't forced.”

“Um...” Veronica couldn't find words. Damn, was _that_ what he'd just remembered? Fuck. How was she supposed to react to that?

“I know, it's not like I asked for permission,” he said, wincing. “I just... Never mind. I'm sorry. I'm... I'll walk to the convenience store. It's not far. I saw it on the way in, I think.”

She stood there for a second, trying to pull herself together into some kind of rational thought, telling herself she was angry, not just about what he'd said but because he was distracting her again. That was what it was. She was distracted, not... anything else.

And he'd hate her if he thought it was pity, so it wasn't pity. It wasn't more than that, even if her walls were shot to hell when it came to him and that small admission was trying to break her heart.

“JD,” she began, swearing under her breath when she had to run after him again.

* * *

Something just about knocked him into the building, and JD grunted with the impact. He didn't fight it, figuring he actually did deserve that in some sense, as he'd crossed a line he had sworn he wouldn't. He had intended to keep his distance from Veronica for many reasons, but that line was one of them. He wasn't supposed to be near anyone he could hurt or anyone from his past.

It was just better for everyone if he stayed away.

“I already apologized.”

“I know, but since you're now feeling guilty on top of all the other stuff going through your head, I had to stop you because you really will get yourself killed this time, and I already told you, that's not happening.”

He closed his eyes, biting back a swear. “I can't do this. It needs to end. Now.”

“We are going to end this,” Veronica said, touching his arm. “You just have to give it time. Enid will get us a name and—”

“And then what?” JD opened his eyes to look at her. “We stake him out? Hope that he has records online that Enid can hack? Do you realize how unlikely that is?”

She grimaced. “I realize that this guy is careful, and he has to be, but Enid found you. She found you in spite of years and distance. She uncovered shell companies and traced that money. She found a dead man. She also found everything that Brad and Richards had done to me. Give her a chance.”

JD shook his head. He knew he didn't have have that kind of time. He was falling apart too quickly, slipping back into bad memories at any moment, and he couldn't live like this. Either they finished it, or he would be back to the hard drugs.

Or dead at his own hands.

“I have to do something,” he insisted. All he had to do was walk into a casino. He was almost sure of it. As soon as Eberhard saw him in his casino, he'd find him, send one of his cronies after him. It was also simple, and he saw no reason not to do it.

“You will. Just not anything dangerous or stupid.”

“What I am thinking is not at all dangerous.”

“Just stupid?”

“As it involves a bit of gambling, yes, but on the whole, it's a very easy, very simple plan,” he told her, giving her a smile. “It's not a bad one, though.”

Veronica frowned. “You want to gamble? You better not be talking about doing it with your life.”

He studied her. “Are you teasing me now?”

She sighed. “I wish. This isn't funny. None of it is.”

“I already apologized.”

“I know you did, and really I don't think—it's awkward, with our history, and you didn't exactly ask for permission, but that one... it wasn't like the other times you didn't ask,” she said, and he winced. He had not been at his best there, not at all. “I'm not angry. I mean, when I thought you were doing it to distract me, I was, but it wasn't about that, was it?”

He swallowed. “Let's... How about we pretend it never happened?”

She shook her head. “It happened, but what really worries me is how self-destructive you are.”

“You don't have to worry. Just let me do what I need to do. You stay with Enid, work that angle. Let me do mine. It might not even come to anything.”

“It's still you using yourself as bait, isn't it?”

“I go in, I draw some attention to myself—”

“You, the one who refuses who be caught on any cameras, who carries a signal jammer and avoids almost all technology for the sake of staying off the grid, is going to go in to casinos with high tech security and let himself be seen?”

He supposed it did seem crazy in that sense, but he couldn't wait, either. He wanted to drink, and if he guessed right, he could score his drugs of choice a few blocks from here. He also knew he could walk out into traffic and end it just like that.

“It's that or some very bad alternatives,” JD told her. “And assuming I survive, Enid has hacked the casinos and can get rid of the footage.”

“JD—”

“I have to do this. With or without your help, I will do it. You'll have to kill me if you want to stop me. And if you drug me...”

She didn't like it. That was clear. “Fine. The casino thing. We'll do it, but I'm coming with you.”

“Fine, but you'll have to change clothes.”

“What?”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JD and Veronica go to a casino.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I did actually write the shopping trip, and it's a side story as I thought it was too light-hearted and overt about the JD/Veronica angle to be in this section.
> 
> I'm probably wrong, but that's okay. Also it was interesting trying to look up what was on the Vegas strip back in the day, and I made up the hotel for Eberhard's use, it's not any of them.
> 
> I also looked up cars for fun, and true enough, those replicas sell for about 35,000. Also, that car is apparently cursed, so...

* * *

_JD sat in the bar, studying the casino across the strip. He knew he could be drinking for a lot less over there, and this stuff was watered down and disgusting, but he couldn't convince himself to move. He had the address. He knew the casino he was supposed to walk into, the one where he had a credit line from Walker and room waiting._

_There it was. He could see the place from here, with its garish theme and overdone opulence, everything looking so rich he felt like he'd lose money just entering the place. He didn't want to go in at all, but he'd agreed. Walker believed he would do this._

_He'd said he wouldn't, and he knew better, so he didn't know why he was here at all._

_He lifted his drink, taking another disgusting sip as he looked at the building. It was not Caesar's Palace, not the Mirage or the Sands. Not the Golden Nugget or the Silver Slipper. Not the Frontier, the Stardust, or the Four Queens. Not Circus, Circus, not the Dunes or the Hilton. No, it wasn't anything all that famous._

_In some ways, the lighting here seemed less flashy, and it looked like it should belong further down the strip, past the ideal locations and more to the rundown side of town, but it was still central enough to be important, though he doubted any of the Rat Pack or Elvis would have ever played there, for all it had a lot of pretensions._

_This place was doing its best to project royal elegance, since they'd modeled it off some château in France and named it after an obscure nobleman or something stupid like that. He would have been more impressed if it had a moat or it was more like it on the outside like that new one, Excalibur. This one must have been something else before and now it was some pompous dick's property, making it look like a stupid attempt to dress up a warehouse into a casino._

_It was still popular, though. He could see that much for himself._

_“You thinking of gambling, kid?” the bartender asked, setting a fresh drink in front of him. “You might want to think again.”_

_“I don't gamble,” JD said, picking up the drink. He hated gamblers. He didn't care what these people did for a living or if they were just hoping they'd win enough to improve their lives. They were idiots. Criminals._

_He knew not everyone was betting on illegal things in a side game of poker, but that didn't mean that he felt like them losing money on the slot machines or blackjack was much better._

_“Good. Don't start.”_

_JD looked back at him. “You gave me a drink without me asking for it despite the fact that my glass is still half full. You'll charge me for it even if I don't take a sip from it because it's been served, and it doesn't matter that it's watered down, you're still going to charge full price. Don't act like you're doing me any favors here. You're not, and I don't need the advice.”_

_“I didn't—”_

_“You're lousy at that part of your job, by the way,” JD muttered, laying a bill on the bar and turning back to the crowd. There. That blond would do well enough as a cover, and she looked stupid enough to believe he wasn't using her._

_He plastered a fake smile on his face and went to do some charming. Sooner he went into that hellhole, the sooner he could leave Vegas for good._

* * *

“It would make more sense to wait for Enid to narrow down the casino before we do this,” Veronica said, knowing that her latest attempt at stalling would probably do no better than her last few. JD was not in a state to listen to reason, which she understood—and feared—since he had another moment when they went to change clothes, and she'd barely gotten him out of the store at that point he was so out of it.

Not that the heels or the ridiculous dress helped. They didn't.

JD stopped, turning to face her. He put both hands on her arms and she found herself wishing for a sweater again instead of a flimsy scarf that she kept almost dropping and provided no warmth whatsoever. “If I stay in one place, if I do nothing, I'm going to need several very large bottles of alcohol or one filled with pills. That's if I don't grab a knife out of the cupboard and slice it through my wrists first—”

“JD,” Veronica interrupted with a wince, really wishing she thought he was exaggerating about that. “Please.”

He sighed, leaning his head against hers. “I hate myself for thinking it, Ronnie, I really do. And I don't want to, it makes me weak and pathetic and everything I fought against for years, but this place... that man... my father... they made me completely powerless back then. Sometimes I couldn't talk, couldn't say anything... and I can't sit still, can't be powerless again. Not here. Not... ever, really, but here? Fuck that. I'd rather walk into traffic than that.”

She knew that, which was why she'd agreed to this in the first place. “I know, but I can't just—I would rather do this safely, in the right way so that you don't get hurt.”

“Far too late for that.”

She reached up to put her hands on his face. “You are not dying on my watch, okay? We're not going down that path. I am not prepared to lose you again. And I know that's crazy, but I don't want to fight about that now, either. I just... there are other, better, safer ways.”

He shook his head, stepping back from her. “It didn't take much to get me on this guy's radar before. I walked in with some trashy blond, let her have a run at the craps table, and next thing I knew, I was talking to Merrin.”

“That was when their con was in full swing, when they were trying to lure in idiots with a lot of money,” Veronica reminded him, “and I am not interested in playing the part of any bimbo, okay? I still don't see why I couldn't just have worn one of my other dresses.”

He snorted. “All of your other clothes scream off duty FBI. I'm surprised the Heathers didn't revolt and force you into fixing that fashion faux pas back when you were in Ohio because you definitely let your wardrobe go since we last knew each other.”

Veronica grimaced. She had bought less fancy things, definitely not as stylish or as expensive as she used to, since she had a budget she had to live within, but she also tended to buy things based on whether or not she could wear it at work, since she didn't do much outside of her twelve or sixteen hour days at work. She also wasn't about to tell him that she had endured a makeover while she was rehabilitating and that she'd very deliberately left all of those clothes behind at her mother's.

“You are not a bimbo,” JD said. “Though it helps to have an attractive woman there to distract people, which is what I want and what you're already doing because I've noticed several people looking your way since we walked in.”

She felt herself flush. “Could be your suit.”

“No, men are background noise, and our clothes are never half as interesting as women's, trust me. The only time people notice me is when I get dressed up in psychic robes and predict the future,” JD told her. “Okay, we need some money for you to bet with and—”

“That's the other thing,” Veronica said. “We really don't need to be losing money doing this. We can find him other ways. As soon as Enid has a name—”

“It's not a loss,” JD said. “This is Bud's money, and I never touch it. All it does is earn interest. Which means we have plenty to lose, and it won't matter a damned bit because I refuse to use Bud's money, even if it is mine now and I came by it honestly and—does that sign say win a Porsche Spyder?”

“Um,” Veronica began, completely thrown by the change in subject, more thrown when he walked away from her, leaving her standing in her ridiculous dress and heels trying to figure out what the hell he was up to this time.

If he was distracting her again, she would kill him.

* * *

“You could drool a little more,” Veronica observed, her arms folded over her chest. JD looked up from the car and grinned at her, though he'd denying drooling until his dying day. “Honestly, what is it with men and cars?”

“Fallacy. Not every man is obsessed with cars, and not every woman finds them incomprehensible and unpleasant to do more than drive,” he chided, really tempted to cross past the pathetic rope barring people access to the car. “And this is not just a car, this is a fifty-five Porsche Spyder, one very much like the one driven by James Dean. A real one of those went for almost four million at auction. This one is probably a replica, only worth thirty grand, but it is impressive all the same, don't you think?”

“I think Enid may not be the only geek in your family,” Veronica said, fighting a smile as she did. “I didn't think you knew so much about cars.”

“Oh, I know a few things, random ones, mostly, but come on, Veronica. How could I _not_ know about James Dean? People used to ask me if that's who I thought I was driving around on my bike and having the name I did.”

 _“Rebel Without a Cause,”_ she said, and he nodded. “I never managed to watch it. After you... I couldn't.”

“Cinema classic. Don't let me spoil it for you,” he said, not looking at her. She should be posing with this car in her dress, since it had some vintage to it and she'd look very much like Grace Kelly—oh, that was not a good thought to have, either.

“JD?”

“Sorry, making unpleasant references in my head,” he said. “Not those. Grace Kelly and scarves. No, wait, that was someone else, wasn't it?”

“I don't want to think about it, but I'm sure Enid could google it for us,” Veronica said. She came over to his side. “You know the odds of winning this thing are... thousands to one, right? You'd actually have to bet to get it, since you win tickets playing the games, or so this sign here says.”

“Hmm.”

“Oh, no, get that look off your face. You are not having Enid rig this contest in your favor.”

“It would get us plenty of attention.”

“And all of those people who legitimately got their tickets and lost their shirts in the process, did you think even a little of them when this thought came into your head? Some of them might legitimately be playing to win and—”

“And I bet you the cost of all their tickets that Eberhard has a share in this casino,” JD said, though he didn't think even the interest on Bud's money had gotten it to that much of a fortune. He'd have to sell the bike and the car to afford half of it, but then he wouldn't have to pay. No, one look at this car, and he was sure. He'd picked the right casino.

“No. We did not randomly stumble onto it. No. We did not walk into one casino and suddenly have the solution for everything. This is not Eberhard's casino.”

He shook his head. “I'm hurt that you think I picked this one at random. I recognized the theme. Modernized and improved, made family friendly, I'm sure, but it's very similar to the one Eberhard used before, or did you think I zoned out in the shop for fun? We are now inside the place that set me off earlier, and this car is proof. It's like a giant beacon shouting it's him.”

She put a hand to her head. “I understand you're dealing with a lot, and you've always been paranoid, but this is a bit much, even for you.”

“It fits.”

“Because you're making it fit. You're so desperate to end this you'll see the signs in anything and anyone,” Veronica said. “No. I am here so you don't go off on these crazy theories and ideas. You can't do this. You'll end up doing something stupid that gets you killed, and this is already dangerous enough.”

JD held out a hand. “Give me your cellphone.”

“What? No.”

He frowned. “Exactly what do you think I'm going to do with it? Smash it? Step on it? Throw it to test the security around the replica? I want to make a phone call.”

“Carry your own damned phone.”

“You know why I don't,” JD said. “And if you don't want to help me, fine. I don't need you here. I didn't want you here in the first place.”

“That is not—” She broke off as the phone rang, and she opened her bag to take it out, swiping to answer it. “What? Oh, Heather, this is so not a good time. No, I swear I sent all of you a text—I can't make any of our plans this week. I'm in Vegas at the moment. No, I did not elope. No, if it was my bachelorette party, I'd have told you to join me. I'm here for Enid. She's having family problems. I'll call you when I can.”

“Eloping, huh?” JD asked as she hung up. She glared at him.

“Your sister is evil, and it's a damned good thing none of them are actually here right now,” Veronica hissed through her teeth. She closed her eyes with a wince. “Not a word.”

“Would you call Enid now, please? Feel free to put it on speaker.”

“I am not calling Enid. You are coming back to her house with me because you're reading too much into this and you need to stop before you get hurt and don't you dare kiss me again to distract me.”

He shook his head. “It wasn't about distracting you. You're angry because it did—both times—but I did not do it just to distract you. Especially not the last time and—just give me the damned phone.”

“Use a payphone.”

“You'll want to hear this, though.”

“Enid is not going to be on the other end telling you you're right.”

“And you don't think maybe some of this hostility is coming from fear that I _am_ right?” he asked, and she swore under her breath. He took a step toward her, touching her arm. “You know I am. This car is bait, pure and simple.”

“For nostalgic idiots and gamblers.”

“What are the odds of finding a similarly themed casino that just happens to be running a promotion involving a Porsche Spyder like James Dean's at random like this? You just argued against that, remember?”

She sighed. “I don't want you to be right about this. And even if you were... why would he do it? Why bother baiting you? For all he knows, you're dead. You escaped him years ago, never resurfaced in a way he could track, and he can't get to you—Fuck.”

“Yeah, you just answered your own question.”

“You really think he risked everything he worked for and his freedom to lure you out of hiding?”

“I don't want to,” JD admitted, “but the more I think about it, the more I'm convinced I'm the only one of his victims who ever got away from him.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JD and Veronica discuss the implications of what he figured out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep having scenes mid-chapter that seem like end cliffhangers. This has been... interesting, to say the least.
> 
> And at least one person (Enid) will probably be unhappy that I found a different ending instead of the one it almost was, but it was also fitting.

* * *

Veronica didn't know that she wanted to think about that. She was having a hard enough time with JD's crazy idea of using himself as bait before he pointed out that Eberhard _wanted_ to lure him out and that he was, most likely, the only one who got away from this sicko. She hadn't met many killers or pedophiles who accepted that sort of thing. Losing a victim was a stain on their honor they never recovered from, and they would do crazy things to get to those victims.

And that wasn't just Hollywood drama talking, though it was even worse on the big or small screen. She knew a man who, deranged as he was, had gotten himself caught because he didn't manage to run over the wildlife herd crossing the road and had to go back to finish the job. She still had trouble looking at live chickens after that one.

She forced down her gag reflex. “And if you are?”

“You know just as well as I do what that means to someone like him. He's a sadist, rapist, and killer, but in his way, he's also a collector.”

“And you're the missing piece to his collection.”

“Yes.”

“Damn it, JD,” she said. “I don't—you know—I don't see how you can stand there and act half as calm as you are. You zoned out remembering the other casino—supposedly this one—and why isn't this another trick? Why should I believe he'd set this trap for you? Why would he even bother? He had no way of knowing it would reach you. So this is just you trying to fool me again, make me think this is the place so I'll go back to Enid and you can slip away to go after him because you know where he really is and it's got nothing to do with here.”

JD shook his head. “I'm not trying to trick you. I would prefer not to drag anyone else into this because I know what he's capable of, and I don't know that I believe he wouldn't hurt Enid. Not only is she my half-sister but she looks a hell of a lot younger than she is, which would appeal to a man like Eberhard, and from what Mrs. Walker told me, he wasn't gender specific. It was more of an age thing with him, because he eyed their daughter, who was twelve.”

“If she knew about Eberhard, why did she hire you?”

“Because she couldn't prove anything to the cops and she knew she was serving me up to that sicko on a silver platter but couldn't care less as long as she got answers.”

Veronica winced. “Are you sure?”

“That woman told me that they liked to get their hold on young, rich men. Pretty ones. She knew exactly what she was doing. It was just my bad luck I'd already had a run in with that asshole when I was with Bud. I might have been able to string things along for a bit longer and not ended up taken first day out, but I barely knew what I was doing and Eberhard had already recognized me.”

Veronica didn't know that she wanted more details of this case, though she was tempted to find the widow Walker and give her a piece of her mind—or worse, let Enid know what she'd done. That woman's life would be a mess all over again.

She faced JD again. “Unless you lied about what happened, he couldn't know you were still alive, just like you didn't know he was.”

“I had more reason to believe he was dead than he did me,” JD told her. “Merrin's stand off and the discovery of the mass grave made the paper. No body in a casino or nearby alley made those papers. There's no public record of me getting picked up by the ambulance and taken to the hospital. While I was there, I was just a John Doe, and maybe he could have found out about the scars and known that I walked out of there still claiming amnesia—”

“Another reason why he wouldn't be setting up a trap like this,” Veronica said. “If he knew about the hospital, he knew you didn't have a memory. He had nothing to fear from you back then.”

“One, this is not about fear, and two, I don't think he would have believed the amnesia thing for a second.” JD turned back to the car. “For me to disappear again with no apparent resources, I'd have to have remembered something. So if he knew about that, he knew I was alive.”

“You said he didn't go after you at the hospital.”

“Well, Merrin was convinced he'd killed him. He probably shot Eberhard like he shot me. I don't doubt Merrin thought he'd killed me when he left even though the shot at my head only grazed me. And if he managed to shoot Eberhard, the bastard was probably stuck recovering and by the time he tracked me down, I'd left the hospital and started over again states away from this nightmare.” JD gave her a small, bitter smile. “You know, I tried to go straight after that. No crazy stuff, no delusions of being some cheap Marlowe knock off. I went for an ordinary job, quiet suburban life.”

“Now you _are_ screwing with me.”

He laughed. “No. I didn't last long in it. I had to get out when I started fantasizing about killing my coworkers.”

“That is not funny.”

He shrugged. “My sense of humor got as warped as I did. Maybe more.”

She shook her head. This conversation kept going in circles, and that was the last thing they needed. “Okay, granting that he did, in fact, know you were alive, how and why would he know to bait you right now? He'd have no way of knowing you'd see bait like this casino or its giveaway, and running for the senate with this kind of a past is one hell of a dangerous move, too big to make over just luring you out.”

“Him being a senator has nothing to do with this game he's playing with me,” JD said. “I think he was willing to risk it because I'd been quiet for so long. I never made any attempt to come back here before now, and if Enid wasn't here, I wouldn't have gotten as close as Reno.”

“So, what, the games are because he chose to go for the senate?”

“Maybe. Or maybe he's made several attempts to get my attention before.” JD shrugged. “There's no real way to know, but there's a good chance he ran a promotion like this James Dean car before. And this set up here with the casino, that's not new, either.”

“He did it before.”

“Probably becoming more and more convinced that I was, in fact, dead, but I doubt he'd ever have let go of that nagging voice that said I was alive. I couldn't get rid of mine, though sometimes I could drown it out with whiskey.”

“It's a long time to wait.”

“He could have tried private detectives, too, but I was really paranoid after Vegas. I went white collar, I went blue collar, and then I went high collar... It took me a while to settle back into the routines that made Judas Dane possible, but believe me, I was still watchful. Eberhard wasn't the only one I had to worry about.”

“That man Woods.”

“He was one of many, and there was everyone in Sherwood, plus I may have crossed your professional path a time or two despite my best intentions.”

“Except... Eberhard knew about you 'dying' at the school, right?” Veronica said. “So he probably knew about the Westerburg suicides and when the story broke about the copycat murders—”

“He may have thought that was my doing or connected somehow to me, which in a way it was.”

“And if any of the coverage afterward mentioned the aid of a psychic named Judas Dane—”

“There's a chance—a small one—that he made the connection.”

Veronica's stomach twisted, and she willed herself not to vomit. If Eberhard knew about JD's stint as Judas Dane, they were in real trouble. He probably knew about Enid, though he might not know she was JD's sister, but that wouldn't stay a secret forever, if it even was now. If she wanted to really get paranoid, she'd say this whole thing with Enid's mom and her severe fall off the wagon had something to do with this psycho, but that was going too far.

Wasn't it?

“JD, we need to go. Now.”

* * *

He nodded. She didn't need to tell him that they should never have had half that conversation here. Even if Enid could delete the footage, they'd probably already been seen if not overheard, and they'd said way too damned much here. JD hadn't meant to, but the damned car had thrown him.

He should have expected it. He'd known what it was as soon as he saw it. Bait.

Funny how an attempt to make himself bait had actually ended up with him seeing the bait that had been dangled out in front of him. Veronica was doing her best not to believe it, and he didn't want to, either, though he couldn't deny what he'd said earlier and he'd known as soon as his head cleared about that damned newspaper that he would have to find Eberhard, and finding that man meant using himself as bait.

JD was under no real illusions there. Veronica and Enid, yes. Him, no. He didn't think Enid would connect the man's real identity to the casinos, even if she uncovered all the layers of shell companies and other entanglements. Eberhard wouldn't make it simple or easy, not something that could be found in this digital age where so much could be compromised by someone who was good with computers.

Eberhard had plenty of time to prepare for this. JD figured he'd done some looking for him in the past, that was almost a given, since Eberhard likely had the advantage of knowing that JD was alive—and he also wasn't suffering from a severe case of PTSD, either. He might have been shot, that would fit, but that didn't mean that he'd been as big of a mess as JD was after Vegas.

No, Eberhard could have prepared everything years in advance to lay this trap, and he could well have put this kind of bait out before—James Dean wasn't just famous for the car he died in, though this one was a more obvious choice than one from his movies.

Hell, JD had ended up with a fifty-two Indian which was the same year and kind as the actor had owned. He hadn't picked it on purpose, just had a bit of a thing for vintage rides. He found the parallels between himself and James Dean amusing, to a point, but he'd never done anything in conscious mimicry of the man, and was more likely to do the opposite, out of spite.

Still, almost everyone would still make the connection—James Dean, famous for being a teenage rebel who died young and Jason Dean, also a teenage rebel who came to a fiery end. As bait went, using James Dean was inspired—subtle enough to fool the masses but obvious to the intended target.

He eyed the car again. Junk mail. The bastard could have done one of those every door mailings, sent an ad for a contest like this one to every mailbox. Casino mailings weren't that uncommon, though mostly people got on the list of casinos they'd actually visited, but still...

Veronica touched his arm. “What now?”

“Considering the likelihood of being suckered by junk mail.”

“What?”

He gestured to the sign. “If they sent out ads for this thing or something like it, just those pieces everyone gets in the mail...”

“He found you. He wouldn't know he did, but he could have.”

JD nodded. “If it was junk mail, I wouldn't have thought much of it, and yeah, Enid dealt with most of that, but I was the one who closed up the office. If it came then... I saw it.”

“And started your downward spiral not long afterward,” Veronica said, letting out a breath. She wrapped an arm around his. “Come on. We still need to go.”

He knew that. He hadn't meant to get distracted again, though it wasn't like he didn't need to know just how far Eberhard had gone trying to find him. The idea of Eberhard having located Judas Dane was unsettling at best, even if it was from the papers and the connection between him, Veronica, and Heather Chandler was unalterable fact. They'd gone to the same school. He was considered a Westerburg suicide. That resurfacing could have gotten Eberhard's attention, but was it enough? Had Eberhard actually found him... or was it dumb luck?

Veronica nudged him, and he turned, almost bumping into a casino employee. Damn. Where had this jerk come from?

“Excuse me, sir,” the other man said, dressed in the 'uniform' all the dealers wore. “I couldn't help noticing your interest in this car. Would you like to be entered into the drawing? It does end tomorrow.”

JD studied him, but he couldn't find any resemblance in him to anyone he'd known before, not in any of his various lives. For one thing, he was pretty young, didn't really look old enough to be working the casino floor, but then Enid didn't look like she was, either. Still, there wasn't anything about this guy—blond hair, blue eyes, ordinary never been broken nose—that gave JD any sense of recognition. 

He should be relieved. He wasn't.

“I thought all you had to do was gamble and you were automatically entered,” JD said, continuing to watch for any signs of... anything from this guy. Something was off here, and he knew it.

“Yes, of course,” the man answered with a smile that was supposed to be charming. Veronica put pressure on JD's arm, signaling her own dislike for this situation, but their new friend just kept on talking. “However, you are allowed one free entry per customer. Every game you play beyond that increases your chances, so it's better to play, and it's a bonus reward for something you were planning on doing anyway.”

That last bit had been a little forced, and JD didn't know why this guy was bothering to try and sell this. He didn't need to, and it couldn't be his real job. “Sounds a bit strange as a casino reward.”

The other man smiled. “Oh, you know. Not everyone comes to Vegas to gamble. Some are looking for the cure for boredom.”

* * *

JD tensed. Veronica could feel him under her fingers, like every inch of him had gone on full alert. She didn't know how what that man had said was so unsettling, not that they hadn't both been on edge since the guy showed up, but this was different. Now it felt like a gauntlet had been thrown, and JD was about to answer it while she scrambled to figure out what the hell it was.

A cure for boredom? Really? What made that line so special?

“I've seen a lot of things in my time, kid,” JD told him. “And while many people claim to have it, no one really does. Not that kind of boredom. Not the kind that goes so soul deep in you that you're bound to do something crazy about it. It's an emptiness. A void. Gambling doesn't fill it. It's not even the band-aid on the bullet hole. It's like eating a pixi stix when you've been starving for weeks.”

“I... beg your pardon?” the other man said. “I was just trying to offer you an entry form, since we appear to have run out.”

“Will the owner of the casino giving that thing away himself?”

“Yes. Would you like to enter the drawing?”

“No,” JD answered, and he turned away, almost dragging Veronica with him, heels and all, as he made his way straight for the door.

She matched her pace to his. “I didn't figure you'd run.”

“Ten bucks says I win that car tomorrow without having Enid do a damned thing to the contest,” JD said, stopping as soon as they were outside. “Fuck.”

The other tourists moving along the street gave him a few looks, but on the whole, they seemed to dismiss him as another idiot who'd lost everything and moved on without another word.

She moved her hands to his face. “Explain. Now.”

“That kid repeated one of my lines to Merrin to me back there. Eberhard knows we're here.”

“Was Eberhard there for that conversation?”

“No.”

“Then you don't know that.”

“I do,” JD insisted. “No way that kid said it by accident. Hell, no. He'd been coached, told what to say. Eberhard shouldn't know about it, but that doesn't change anything. He still fed it to that kid. They were both expecting me to say something else, and I'm sure Eberhard figured I'd want to win since I was there to let him know I know he's alive and baiting me, but it doesn't matter. Tomorrow I will win the damned car without being entered.”

“A trap.”

He laughed, one of those bitter ones that had people looking at them again. “The whole damned thing's a trap.”

She could believe that, for him, since he'd been self-destructing since he got close to the place, which was what this Eberhard creep needed most because he wasn't likely to win against JD now, not in a physical sense, and very likely not in a mental one, since JD was damned good at those games himself and not an idiot.

He had his weaknesses—morality being one of them—and Eberhard was exploiting this one, taking advantage of how badly this town and that time had traumatized JD. He shouldn't have come back, but she hadn't understood that before, not until he'd finally explained part of things and let some of the actual damage show.

If he'd been honest before, she'd have dragged Enid and her mother out of Vegas and made them meet somewhere else—not Reno—to go over this thing and find Eberhard. Now it was probably too late. Eberhard knew his plan had worked. He knew JD was here.

He could spring his trap anywhere. They'd be on edge constantly, watching and waiting for him to make a move on JD. Going back to Enid put her at risk, and there was a good chance they'd be followed anywhere they went now.

“I suppose you think using my rental is out of the question.”

He looked her over. “Debatable. You're still attention getting like that, and you will be noticed at any place we might go to find an alternative means of transportation—besides Enid's, of course—”

“Except I already know you won't go back there.”

“Trying to weigh the benefits of making sure she's safe over the risk of leading them to her,” he corrected, and Veronica waited. “Better get the car.”

* * *

Enid leaned back in her chair, eying her quaggan. “You're lucky you're cute. He's a dead man. Again. This is such bullshit.”

The quaggan didn't so much as blink at her, being a stuffed animal and all, and Enid grimaced as she rose, shaking her head at herself. She needed to stop talking to inanimate objects. That, or get a cat. Maybe then she'd seem a little less weird—and more stereotypical—when she said this kind of stuff out loud. She'd have someone to talk to, since everyone else seemed to ditch her, including her no good brother and his girlfriend.

She grumbled under her breath as she walked back toward the kitchen, knowing she'd have to make her own coffee since neither of the others was coming back and her mother was shacked up somewhere and probably drunk, too.

Enid really needed better friends. Or a live quaggan.

She filled the carafe and poured the water into the coffeemaker, putting the pot on the burner as she went to find a filter. She grabbed the box and cursed when someone pounded on the door.

“Mom, if you lost your keys again, I'm going to kill you. And if it's some other parties who ditched me and probably had their fictional wedding night three times over already, I am so not letting you back in unless you got me the really, really good stuff.”

She went back to fixing her coffee, scooping grounds into the filter and turning the machine on, letting it start to brew as the pounding got louder.

Her mother. Fine. She knew that woman enough to know that she wouldn't quit until the door opened, so she had no choice but to open the door. She had her coffee started, so she supposed she may as well open it.

She crossed over and yanked the door open. “I swear, Mom, if you—who the hell are you?”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Dean. I think it's past time you and I got to know each other.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JD tries to make plans after the latest discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter really wanted to be about jokes and other not dark plot related things. It tried to get away from me more than once. (JD almost suggested something else to deal with the tension, *sigh*)
> 
> Hopefully it didn't get too absurd because it certainly tried.

* * *

Veronica found herself fidgeting in the driver's seat, not for the first time since she'd gotten in the car. For some reason, the sedan's seat kept making the skirt of her dress fall in ways it shouldn't, pulling up to expose her legs or tightening in places it shouldn't. She was lucky JD seemed pretty distracted. He might have stared at her legs or seen too much otherwise.

“I am so changing when we get there.”

“Hmm.”

She looked over at him, frowning. “You can't convince me that I need to wear this any longer. We're no longer playing those roles. We barely did—it wasn't worth buying anything. Except maybe the shoes because you owed me, but the rest of this...”

“If I'd had access to Bud's money when we first met, I'd have taken you shopping as often as you wanted,” JD said, and she tensed up, but he didn't even look away from the window. “I liked some of it, don't get me wrong, but I could see Heather Chandler's hand in it, and I wanted to change that. Suppose it's a sign... I was too controlling, like she was... I just... There was a part of me that would have given you the moon. Except... you know... that moon was a dead bully and I have some serious issues.”

Veronica didn't know if she wanted to laugh or gag on that one, and she didn't manage to say anything. He tapped the glass and leaned back against the head rest.

“I hate being outplayed.”

She didn't mind the subject change. Their former relationship was not ground that it was safe to go over, not for either of them. It was confusing and best left to the past. They had a friendship now, almost a working relationship. Throwing that away now would be stupid, and they couldn't afford it, not with this case.

“You know,” Veronica began, because it had to be said, “some of us would have been better at this game if we'd known we were even playing it.”

“And some of us didn't want you involved in the first place.”

“Chauvinist.”

He snorted. “Has nothing to do with me thinking women are weak. I happen to know better, and not just because of you or Enid or anything good. You know that's not why I wanted you out of this. It was about protecting you—and her—but... well, the other one's obvious, isn't it?”

She grimaced at the bitterness in his voice. He was ashamed of being a victim, even if he'd never actually said that Eberhard had hurt him in that way or that anyone else had. It was heavily implied but not said, and the fact that he couldn't say it said volumes in of itself.

“You're not to blame for what he did.”

“I let him live. I could have made sure he was dead.”

“As a dead man?” Veronica asked. “How were you going to explain your real identity? And you said before you weren't willing to reveal yourself to me because you knew what I'd do—”

“You shooting me was a pretty good indication of how any interaction between the two of us would end.”

“And yet here we are,” she said, since she was driving him around in her rental, trying to keep him alive, and hadn't made one attempt to hurt him despite everything she knew from before.

Then again, while it seemed impossible, JD had changed. He wasn't a killer anymore, even if he wasn't living a wholly legal life or an entirely honest one.

“We're not there yet.”

She looked over at him, bothered by the way he'd taken it literally. “What's wrong?”

“Fighting memories again. It's... I'm fine. Just... not entirely here. Mentally.”

“I could use that against you,” she said, but he didn't even manage a smile at her words, curling up in the seat and wrinkling his suit. He looked more like a child than a grown man right now. “JD?”

“I don't remember going to Vegas. Nothing between the site and waking up in the hotel room. I thought... I don't know... could I have still been there for part of what Eberhard did? And why would he go back to the site without me?”

“I don't know,” Veronica said, turning the car and parking in front of Enid's house. “Are you sure it matters?”

“Yes. No. Maybe.” JD opened the door and stumbled out, looking like he might puke again. Veronica went around to his side, guiding him back toward the door. “You shouldn't. I might ruin your shoes again.”

“Then you'll buy me another pair. Maybe flats this time.”

“With your legs? That's a crime, Agent Hanson. I'm surprised you'd ask such a thing of me.”

“You know, flirting as a defense mechanism is not as cute as you think it is,” she told him, reaching for the door handle. It turned easily, and she knew she was going to have to lecture Enid about safety, even if she and JD were only supposed to run a quick errand and neither of them had keys.

“I'm adorable,” JD disagreed. “We'll just... ask... Enid...”

He took in her computer and ran down the hall. Veronica didn't follow. She had a good idea what he was going to find.

“She's not here.”

“She could have gone to find her mother,” Veronica said, though she wasn't sure she believed that, even as she fought to understand how Eberhard had pinpointed Enid as JD's sister, since no one else knew about that. “It might not be what you think.”

He snorted. “Yeah. Sure. And pigs fly and all that bullshit.”

Veronica gestured to the room. “There's no sign of struggle. No forced entry. Her computer's still sitting out and turned on, just asleep. It looks like she could have just left.”

“Outplayed,” he repeated, going for the door.

* * *

“You know where he'll be tomorrow,” Veronica said, coming up to him as he paced. “And while we both agree it's a trap, that's still something we can use.”

JD shook his head. “No. It's not. Because he won't risk me making a public scene like that. Just because the owner of the hotel would be putting in a public appearance doesn't mean that it's him. He's only a part owner, and you can bet it's a silent one, buried under shell companies and fake identities.”

“Enid might have found something. You didn't even look at her computer,” Veronica said. “And we haven't tracked down her mother, either.”

“That woman can get hit by a bus for all I care,” JD muttered, needing something to break, someone to hurt. He would have punched the wall, but he knew better than that after all these years. He couldn't afford a broken hand, not when it was pretty clear where this was heading.

At best, he'd be asked to exchange himself for Enid.

At worst... he'd walk into that exchange only to get caught and find out she was already dead.

He couldn't afford to put himself at even more of a disadvantage, as much as he needed to do something to release the tension and keep him from going back into the memories. A part of him wanted to believe that the way Eberhard had delayed in the past would be some kind of comfort, but then it wasn't the same and even if it was... Eberhard had cut scars into his back first, meaning Enid would suffer.

“I can put in a call to friends of mine at the FBI—”

“And tell them what, exactly? That your dead ex-boyfriend was once abducted—after his death, mind you—by a casino owner and senator who is secretly a pedophile and serial killer and now that murderer, who should be dead, has also now kidnapped his previously unknown half-sister? Yes, that's a great idea.”

“How about I tell him that a friend of mine has disappeared and was likely kidnapped by a serial killer she sought to expose because she's a sort of internet vigilante?” Veronica asked, and he looked at her, not sure where she'd come up with that description of Enid. “It's fitting. She has used the internet for revenge before, and she was looking into this for us. I don't have to tell them about you at all.”

“I can't stop you from making the call.”

She studied him. “You don't want me to, though. Even if it means finding Enid faster? Neither of us can do what she does for us. We're not hackers.”

“Which makes this an excellent time to point out that if she did find something on her computer, we very likely can't get into it.”

“So we need help,” Veronica said. “Because you can't let Eberhard hurt your sister or anyone else.”

He couldn't, but short of walking back in there and causing some kind of disturbance, he wasn't sure what he could do. Getting Veronica's friends involved might uncover some names, but he was the only one who could make any of it stick, and he was a dead murderer, so how the hell did he prove anything?

He couldn't testify. He couldn't get an admission of guilt over any of the things Eberhard had done to him, and even what he'd said about breaking his victim's back before wasn't enough.

Killing the bastard was the only way to stop him.

No, there was Enid. She'd been his victim, and she could testify, though how she'd explain she knew about any of this was debatable.

Then again... Walker owed him. Big time. She could be made to agree to say she'd put Enid on the trail again, even if it wasn't true. Not like she'd want the world knowing she'd offered him up on a platter like she had.

“I need to shoot something.”

Veronica grimaced. “I'm not sure that's the best idea, either.”

“I'm tense, and I can't think. I can't drink, a slushie is not enough, though I want one, and I may have a plan, but I need to clear my head to finish putting the details in place. You still have a gun?”

“Yes, but I'm not taking you out in the desert to fire it.”

“And here I was thinking we'd use a gun range, but desert sounds even better.”

“That can't be a good idea, either. You did shoot Brad, remember?”

“And I would love to shoot Eberhard. What's your point?”

“That there has to be some way of dealing with your stress that's not destructive and won't end in you getting hurt or killed or going into another fugue with a gun in your hand.”

He grimaced. That last part... she might have a bit of a point there.

“You were going to change.”

“Don't try and distract me. Offering yourself in Enid's place is not an option, either.”

He gave Veronica a thin smile. She knew too much, and yet not enough. “Not yet. I may have another angle, but for that one, you need to play the FBI lady. So you will change, get your gun, and I will even let you drive.”

“You going to tell me where we're going?”

“No.”

“You just expect me to take you there, no questions asked, trusting you.”

“Yes.”

“Damn it,” she muttered, shaking her head at herself. “Fine, but don't make me regret this.”

“Never again,” he promised, and she bit her lip, the moment stretching on and growing more tense before she broke it by yanking him by the arm and leading him back inside the house.

* * *

“Can I ask you a question?” Enid began, a bit dizzy from watching him circle her over and over again. “I mean, you said we were going to talk, so we should do some actual talking, right?”

He stopped and looked at her, and she bit her lip, fidgeting in her chair. “You think you can ask me questions.”

“Was that a question?” Enid asked, because it had sounded like one. “Wait, why are you playing games with me? I'm asking plenty of questions, so I guess if you wanted to stop me, you'd have to gag me, and I don't really want to be gagged—”

“So perhaps you should be silent.”

“Is this the part where I get a pat on the head for being defiant?” Enid asked, squirming in her seat. “Or are you going to start torturing me now? Or is it time for you to actually send the message that you think you're sending with taking me but haven't actually sent because you can't be sure that my disappearance is enough in of itself?”

The man's lips curved into a thin smile. “You talk a great deal.”

“I can. I do. Usually to myself, but then I'm kind of one of those people who are... extra, you know? Like people don't usually need me, so I just stick to the shadows and the internet and don't get much notice unless someone needs a hacker—or a secretary—and then I get hired and have a very good job until my boss throws it all away because of his ex—”

“I think you share a very charming quality with your brother,” the man said, and she swallowed. He gave her a smile that made her sick. “He talked like you do, trying to divert the subject, but he had to know he couldn't really distract me.”

“Um, I don't know if you've noticed, but my mother never married and only had one kid. I'm pretty sure that's public record.”

“Your father is another matter.”

“My mother doesn't know who he was, so... yeah, whatever.”

“I am sure that is the version she prefers as she did not consent to his advances, but you are the daughter of Bud Dean. Bud had at least one other child, a son. Jason.”

“So if you know who my father is, does that mean you can prove it to the courts and he can go to jail? Because he should rot there for eternity and then some. After, of course, someone cuts off his balls or something. Only fitting for a rapist, don't you think?”

“Perhaps,” he said, and she frowned, expecting a bit more of a reaction, considering this had to be Eberhard and he was just as sick as Bud was. Or worse. Sometimes it was hard to be sure, and Jay hadn't been clear about all of it, so that was no help.

She almost asked him about doing it to him, but that would give away her whole act, since she was trying to pretend she didn't know who he was and that he'd hurt her brother. She couldn't admit that she knew he was a pedophile because then he'd know she'd talked to Jay.

“You're kind of a lousy host, you know,” Enid told him. “You drug me at my door, tie me to a chair, and then refuse to help get my mom justice. I suppose asking to go to the bathroom is out of the question?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, I did kind of go through pots of coffee before you showed up,” she said. “My friend Veronica came by, we had an impromptu gaming session, I drank a lot of coffee... I won the internet. And now I have to pee.”

Eberhard smiled at her. “You are rather delightfully like your brother. Well, before your father broke him, I should say. You, on the other hand, are quite unspoiled.”

“Seriously? You know asking a girl about that is so not okay. That's private, and I wouldn't tell you the truth either way.”

“Your brother was like you. A mix of innocence and defiance—even after he'd been soiled—and it really is the most intoxicating combination.”

This guy was sick. Really, really sick.

“Did you ever think that maybe politicians shouldn't use twitter accounts? Like... all they ever do is embarrass themselves.”

“Is that a threat?”

“That would be if I said I was _going_ to hack your twitter and tell the world you were a pedophile rapist and serial killer. That's a threat.”

“I see. So what you did...”

“An informative statement.”

“With an implied threat.” 

“No, I was just telling you how it is. Because... you know... I _did_ hack your account and told the world what you did.”

“And you expect them to believe you?”

“Why wouldn't they? It's on the internet, and the internet never lies.”

He laughed. “An amusing thought, but hardly a true one. I'm sure there will be detractors that believe in spite of proof of any such 'hacking' and the complete lack of evidence against me, but on the whole, few would. I'd never be stupid enough to post that myself, and even my enemies know that, unlike other politicians who have gladly made fools of themselves.”

“Sure.”

“However, since you seem so fond of messages and sending them, perhaps we should work on the one I want to send most,” he said, and then started untying her hands from behind the chair.

“You know, if you wanted to hire me for my mad computer skills, you could just say so. I'm sure we could work something out.”

“Oh, you will be sending my message,” he told her, touching her back and reminding her of Jay's scars. “Trust me on that much, my dear.”

* * *

“I'm not sure what we're doing here,” Veronica said, a bit tired and having trouble putting aside her doubts now. She wanted to trust JD, and she knew he knew more about this case and the players in it than she ever would, but that didn't make this easy. He was still dangerous, and they walked a very thin line between what was and what wasn't and what could be.

He was a killer before, so was she, and that path was not one either of them wanted to go down again, even if she did go back to the FBI.

“I promise it will make itself clear soon enough,” JD said, fidgeting again. He'd done that a lot since they started on this road trip, not that she could entirely blame him as Enid was missing and it was not like anyone would convince him it wasn't his fault. She was his sister, he'd made up a story before that would get anyone related to him in trouble, and he'd let the psychopath who had her live years ago when he thought he could have stopped him, even if that wasn't true.

JD didn't know his real name, then it would have been difficult back then to do much about it, and the man probably went into hiding after Merrin failed to kill him.

“You said I wouldn't regret this.”

“And you won't,” JD said, giving her a lopsided smile. “It should get us some of the answers we need, and it'll be worth it. Just... pretend you're still an agent. The paperwork hasn't gone through officially, so you're not even lying.”

She frowned again, but she let it slide for now. Whatever his plan was, she would go along with it as long as it wasn't killing someone, and he hadn't lied about bullets this time, not that she'd ever believe it twice. And if he wanted her pretending to be FBI, this was probably some kind of attempt to intimidate someone, which was fine with her. She could live with that.

It had better not be anything else.

“This is it,” he said, looking up at the house. “Strange. Hasn't changed much, at least not on the outside.”

“I'd expect more security with a house this big. Locked gate, cameras on the fence, guards in the yard.”

“As I understand it, they liked the appearance of normalcy,” JD muttered, snorting as he turned to rummage through the bags in the back seat. She forced herself to ignore him, parking the car. He settled back down, putting the hat on his head.

“Are you trying to look like a mobster?”

“Like I could go for a baseball hat or a hooded robe,” he said, taking out a pair of sunglasses. “I can't go showing my face everywhere we go, remember? Just pretend I'm Elliot Ness.”

“You look ridiculous.”

“Laugh it up,” he said, shaking his head as he reached for the door handle. “But we need to go and get this over with as quickly as possible if we're going to find Enid. You have everything you need? Let's see... ugly suit, unflattering hair style, gun... yes, you'll do.”

She glared at him, telling herself she didn't care what he thought of her clothes or her hair as she followed him up to the door. He buzzed the intercom next to the doors.

“State your business.”

“The FBI would like to have some words with the lady of the house.”

“You have badges?”

“Where are we supposed to show them?” Veronica asked, eying the doors and the walls for a hidden camera and not coming up with anything. “Maybe you should just open the door.”

It creaked open a moment later, and she held up her badge for the man who held it. He nodded, gesturing for them to enter. “She is in her office.”

JD walked down the hallway with familiarity, apparently knowing exactly where to go. Veronica followed him into a room at the end where an older woman sat at the desk, not looking up at them.

“I assume you have a very good reason for coming here.”

JD shut the door behind them. “I assume your daughter has grown up and left the house by now. College, right? Or is she married with kids of her own by now?”

Veronica frowned, and he patted her back like he was attempting to calm her. She wasn't reassured by that at all.

The other woman stood, lifting her glasses to her eyes and studying them. “If you've come to threaten my daughter in any way—”

“That is not why we're here,” Veronica said, though she was starting to worry that she was wrong about that and should never have trusted JD with any of this. “We wanted to ask you some questions.”

“Yes,” JD said, yanking Veronica's gun out of its holster and pointing it at the woman. “Let's start with why you sold me out.”

Fuck. Veronica never should have trusted him. 

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Oh, yes, you do, Mrs. Walker,” JD told her, all ridiculousness gone and replaced by a murderous fury as he stared her down. “Was that always part of the plan? How long were you working with the asshole that killed your husband?”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JD continues his interrogation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... I'm going to admit I wrote part of this watching over my cat as he was getting sicker and then there was no denying how bad it was...
> 
> I had to take him to the vet, and he's gone now, and while I finished this chapter after he was... I was also a bit... out of it and apologize for any mistakes as I'm only half here mentally... I write to cope, and I wrote afterward because I had to do something... and I don't know about quality, just that... I got it done... and that's where things are.

* * *

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Walker insisted, and Veronica winced, knowing there was no way this was going to end well. Not that JD had made it easy for the woman—he'd disguised himself before going in—but he wasn't going to accept that was why she didn't recognize him. He should have been weighing down her conscience, if she had one, but it looked like she didn't.

“You should,” he said, voice cold. “After all, I was just their type, wasn't I? 'Pretty.' Young. Rich, though you didn't know that about me—you just knew you could make me look like I was.”

“No,” Walker said, backing up to the window. “You... they said... I thought... you were... you were one of the bodies they found in the desert. You had to be. You're dead.”

“That's one of those things that people assume a lot about me and tend to be wrong about every single time,” he told her. “And me being dead, that I can understand you accepting and not doing a damned thing about—guilty conscience and all—why would you ever admit you hired a kid like me and sent him off to his death like you did? It's him I don't understand. You had to have known he was alive for a long time now. Why wouldn't you do something about it unless you were working with him? And why the fuck would you work with him?”

Walker lowered her head. “You don't know what it was like back then. My daughter... she still believed her father was coming home. She would wait every day until dark to see him. She wasn't eating. She barely slept. The authorities did nothing. I was going to lose my daughter, and I knew it. I didn't know what else to do.”

Veronica swallowed, a sick feeling in her stomach. “You... you offered JD to that bastard in exchange for your husband's body?”

Walker flinched. “God help me, I did. I had tried every other way I could think of, and the police weren't looking into it. I'd hired other detectives, but they got nowhere, just took my money and gave me a bunch of empty apologies. I was tired of it, and I had to save my daughter. I went to him, and I begged him for my husband's body back.”

“You knew him despite the fact that Merrin was fronting for him and had no idea he was a killer.”

Walker sighed. “My husband was no wide-eyed innocent who was fooled into giving away his money to some con artists. He was one of them.”

Veronica had to get her gun from JD. If Walker went on like this, he would probably kill her. He'd come to the conclusion she'd betrayed him, but having it confirmed was different. Having her admit that her husband wasn't a victim of the scam but actually involved in it was, too, and the idea that this woman had been willing to give JD over to a pedophile for a body... Veronica was tempted to shoot her herself.

“He worked with Eberhard making the scheme,” JD said. “He was the builder.”

“No, that was some jerk with a company that moved around the country. Looked like a maniac on those commercials—I don't remember the name—they stopped playing them.”

“Bud Dean?” Veronica asked. “Are you saying Bud Dean was a part of this?”

Walker nodded. “He built the site. The oasis, they called it. It was their place to bilk their investors. The great myth of terraforming. That was what my husband liked to call it. He was so proud of it.”

“Bud Dean built the site,” Veronica said, feeling ill and getting a look from Walker. The woman thought she was stupid, she could tell, but this was even worse than they'd thought. “Did you ever meet Bud Dean?”

“No, I never did.”

“You're lying,” JD said, and she gulped as his finger moved along the trigger.

“No.”

“Bud ever tell you about his son? You were parents, right? Parents talk about their kids,” Veronica said, well aware of just how much her friends talked about their children. Even the psycho Richards had plenty to say about his son. “Did he ever show you a picture of his son?”

Walker shook her head. “No. I never—I did meet him once, he made me uncomfortable, so I told my husband he was never to come back here.”

“And he listened to that?”

“I think he preferred that his daughter retain the illusion he was an honest businessman and that I know less about his schemes than I did. As, I will admit, did I. It was no easy thing, knowing the man I loved was a criminal, taking money from fools when we had more than we'd ever need.”

“But Bud Dean had a share of the money in the scheme.”

“The bulk of it went to a three way split—Dean, my husband, and Eberhard, as he sometimes called himself. Merrin and the others saw very little of the money.”

Veronica tried to control her gag reflex, but her stomach was churning like crazy. “When you got hold of Bud's money, you didn't just wipe him out—you did it to them, too.”

“I never did any such thing,” Mrs. Walker said stiffly. “I had money of my own from my father's, and while I will admit I fell for a man who married me mostly to get it, I had enough of my own. I never needed to get more, not even for my daughter's sake.”

“Did they tell you to find me specifically?”

“No,” Walker answered. “I... He... Eberhard said if I wanted my husband's body, I'd give him someone like you. Not James Dedman, no. That was... that was the one way I defied his instructions. I picked a private investigator who looked young enough to pass for the age he'd specified and had a chance of protecting himself, unlike others. I even thought maybe he could find my husband's body and expose the whole thing.”

“Only I apparently died and you did nothing.”

“I had my husband's body,” Walker said. “And Eberhard said if I exposed him, he'd do it to me in turn. He had our agreement on tape—and it sounded very much like something it wasn't. When I heard that tape... it sounded like I was... just offering to sell him a young boy. I'd have been ruined and lost my daughter... and he led me to believe he had documents that would suggest he should get custody of her instead of my father, as was my husband's wish. And as someone else had been proven the murderer... I felt I had no choice.”

“You realize he probably killed dozens of others since then.”

“Why would he? He didn't have any partners left in his scheme.”

Veronica wanted to smack her. “Because he was a sadist and a pedophile and he killed the boys he assaulted.”

Walker frowned. “That was... I made that up to convince Dedman to take the case. I never saw any sign of... that from Eberhard. He... that was for Bud Dean.”

“For Bud?” Veronica asked, eying JD before looking at Walker again. “You do realize he was already dead by the time you sent Dedman into that casino, right?”

Walker shook her head. “No. He was still alive. He was. He... he had to be, didn't he?”

Veronica really wanted to smack her now, though she supposed it wasn't anything different from what she herself had done, what JD had done. He'd allowed himself to believe that Eberhard was dead so that he could move on and live instead of dying in some cliché overdose, and she'd done the same with JD. She'd had to believe he was dead to go on living, and she'd had more reason to believe it than either of them did, as she'd thought she'd seen him blow up right in front of her.

“One more question,” JD began, and Walker looked up at him.

“Please don't tell me you are about to ask me if I feel lucky,” Walker whispered. “I know you asked if my daughter was here—you made me think maybe you wouldn't do anything to me if she was—please... I was a fool, but I didn't... I thought it was the only way to save my daughter.”

He snorted. “I don't care. You're not going to get my forgiveness. I'm not that good of a person. I just want to know if you'd have admitted to any of that if I hadn't put a gun in your face.”

“Um... no,” Walker said, frowning again. “I had rather intended to take that to my grave.”

“Figured as much,” he muttered, rolling the gun back like he was in a movie before holding it out to Veronica. She took it, frowning in turn, but he said nothing else as he walked away from the room.

She looked Walker over, trying to decide if there was anything legal she could get the woman on, and in the end, watching her shake as she sat back down at her desk was a small bit of satisfaction. She turned and went after JD.

* * *

“You didn't shoot her.”

“No, I didn't,” JD said. He shouldn't feel hurt that Veronica was doing this, but it did sting, a bit, that she'd doubted him. He'd given her cause, but he was reminded that those old doubts would always come between them. “I told you that you wouldn't regret it, and I meant it.”

“You scared the hell out of me when you did that,” Veronica told him. He should have thought of that. Sure, the last time he'd touched a gun, he'd fired it to save her life, but before that? None of those memories would make her think of trust or anything else good related to him.

“I didn't figure she'd tell the truth,” JD said. “Your FBI act was really just a way in the door. I should apologize for that.”

“Do you believe her?” Veronica asked. “About Bud being involved in the scam?”

“I don't know,” he admitted. “When we were in Vegas, things were... bad. I didn't... I didn't see much outside the room, though I knew Bud had gotten involved in a project he was excited about. He didn't tell me about it. His focus was on the other games he was playing—the one to screw with my head and his high stakes poker.”

“It was possible, then.”

“Yes. I mean... I can't tell you how long we were in Vegas that time. It was... forever, it felt like, and one of the worst times of my life. I couldn't tell how long it really lasted. Bud moved us someplace else, and life went on like he'd never done anything...” JD looked down at the driveway, studying the patterns in the cement. “You already pointed out what that might mean.”

“That when you managed to steal Bud's money, you stole Eberhard's and Walker's, so it wasn't just about you being... Eberhard's type.”

“Eberhard's type was a lot younger than me,” JD said. “Twelve, fourteen, maybe... Not twenty.”

Veronica folded her arms over her chest. “This didn't get us any closer to getting Enid back.”

“Go ask the butler who she just called.”

“You think after all that, she ratted you out to Eberhard?”

“And see, I should have shot her, but I didn't. We'll see how long I have to regret it,” JD said. “She called him. She's still scared of the exposure. Maybe not for her sake, but she probably has ambitions where that daughter of hers is concerned, and she doesn't want that compromised.”

Veronica considered that, looking less than pleased. “And why would the butler tell me anything?”

“The FBI badge and the sense that he'd gladly like someone to expose the stain on the family name she created by marrying the man she did.”

“You saw him for two seconds. Why would you think that?” Veronica asked. She folded her arms over her chest and shook her head. “No, JD, I don't buy that, either. Were you planning on taking my car the moment I turned my back on you?”

He'd been tempted, but there wasn't a great solution to be had besides walking back into that casino to see if he could make the trade—himself for Enid. Knowing Eberhard, he'd never agree to it. He was just as much into games as Bud was, and he wanted JD to suffer for getting away for so long.

“You want her to tell Eberhard you know about their deal?”

“It's not much, but better it than nothing. Galls me to realize it this late in the game, but my head was a mess—I knew I shouldn't do it, but something made me go against that instinct and I did it anyway.”

“Maybe you had that sense because a part of you was picking up on her connection to Eberhard and your father.”

“Maybe, but that isn't much of a comfort now, knowing I didn't stop him and that she played me. It was one thing getting caught up in it because I was an idiotic young private investigator without good sense or training, but to be handed over like that, chosen to be his new toy...”

Veronica put her hand on his arm. “He may have won the last round, but this time is different. He has your sister, and that's not as much of an advantage as he thinks it is because he has no idea how far you'll go for the people you care about. Like murder for a couple of rumors, for instance. He also doesn't know how good you are at understanding others. You know criminals, but more importantly, you know him. And you're not alone. You have me.”

“Hmm. I could probably piss him off by kissing you in public.”

“What? That is not what I meant by saying you had me—”

“I'm marked. I'm his. I'm the one that got away. I am not supposed to be living a good life where I'm happy and in a well-adjusted relationship. I am supposed to be miserable, alone, and scared. A mess because my sister's missing and he intends to use her against me and kill her after he's hurt her. Appearing calm and together is admittedly not much of a revenge, but it's sometimes all you get against someone like him. You get to give him the finger and say, 'no, you didn't take it all from me,' even if most days it feels like a lie.”

Veronica twisted her lip. “It wasn't just about making her admit to her involvement, was it? Because there are other ways we could have done this and—”

“I need to ask her another question.”

“I know you forgot to ask for his real name, but are you kidding? She's not going to open the door again, and the cops are probably on their way. I am on leave, and as soon as they check that and hear her story—”

“She wouldn't call the cops. She has too much to lose,” JD said, going back toward the door. He had to find out what this woman knew. It might be the only way to save Enid.

* * *

Enid knew she didn't have much time, since it was clear that this guy had no intention of letting her use the bathroom and was hell bent on carving up her back—great pun, Enid, wonderful time for it—so she had to act. She knew that Jay would blame himself for any scars she got, and she also knew that if this guy did get a knife on her, he'd send photos or something to Jay to make him do something stupid like hand himself over to this creep.

And since that was what this guy wanted, he absolutely did not get it.

She refused to let him win. He was not silencing her brother.

She did wish she'd had more time to ruin the guy's good name. Hacking twitter and posting to expose his pedophile status was not enough. He probably would deny everything and might even get away with it.

She should have done more to him when she still had access to a computer. And she probably should have sent on what she found to Veronica instead of holding it back in spite.

“We'll need to get rid of this,” the man said, tugging on her shirt, and she glared up at him.

“Cut that and die. This is a limited edition promo shirt that they gave away with only the first hundred copies of the game. You had to preorder fast on that one, and I did. You are not ruining it. You do, you die.”

“It is charming that you think you can do anything to me.”

“It's also very annoying that people always assume that geeks know nothing of how to take care of themselves. Do you think I was willing to work in a seedy neighborhood for years without knowing even the most basic of self-defense? Hello, I was raised in Vegas. I am not as innocent as I look.” Enid told him, though admittedly, the drugs were a problem and she was mostly out of practice since her grandfather had gotten too old to keep up with teaching her.

“I suppose you wish to believe that.”

“I think if anyone in this room has delusions, it's you, buddy. You're the one that thinks you can hurt me and get away with it. You think you can use me and get what you want, but I'm warning you—it's not going to end like you think it will.”

“You're sure of that?” he asked, reaching for her sleeve again. She leaned away from him, knowing she probably couldn't twist that knife out of his grip. If he'd only untied her feet, she'd have a fighting chance, but this guy definitely didn't play fair.

Still, she did the only thing she could think of, throwing her weight forward and whacking him with the chair. The knife went flying, and she grinned to herself at the sound of cracked wood. The chair was no good now, and she was going to get that knife.

She dove for it, hearing more of the chair splinter as she did. Maybe she could get the thing off of her if it had enough give, but either way, she wanted the knife.

He followed her for it, and she had to use her awkward position tied to the chair to block him, putting the chair between him and the blade. She put her hand around it and tried not to get too excited, even if this was better than beating that stupid jump puzzle that had taunted her for weeks.

She had the knife. She just need to ditch this chair, and she was out of here.

“I said I liked my companions with a bit of fight,” he said, sounding very dramatic as he moved away. She rolled her eyes and put the knife to the ropes, cutting through the ones on her legs. “I didn't say that I wanted them to win.”

She looked up with a frown, and that was a mistake, since he'd managed to get his drugs while she was busy with the rope. The syringe went into her arm, again, and though she tried to pull away, enough of the sedative got to her, making her woozy enough to fall over.

“I'm still going to kill you,” she whispered as he took the knife from her. “I promise.”

“Shh, now. You go ahead and rest. We'll work on this when you're awake again.”

* * *

“It never fails to amaze me just how much people are willing to lie even when faced with a psychopath with a gun,” JD said, pushing the door open to Walker's office. She saw him and tensed up in her chair, staring in disbelief.

“You... you left.”

“No, I didn't. I thought about it, but then I remembered a piece of something that was nagging at me before I decided we had to come and talk to you. While it's great knowing you stabbed me in the back metaphorically and literally handed me over to a sociopath, I could have guess that at any time and always knew, really, on some level. Proving that doesn't help anything when this man has my sister.”

“No.”

“He does,” Veronica said. “Enid was taken from her home last night.”

“I had nothing to do with that. I swear I didn't.”

JD believed that part. He didn't think Walker was involved in any of Eberhard's current schemes. She was still desperate to keep the former ones hidden, but she was older, wiser, and determined to protect her daughter at all costs from scandal. She'd never get involved with Eberhard again by choice.

“You know his real name,” Veronica said. “Yet you chose to use Eberhard because it was the one we were using. Why cover that up?”

“Because Eberhard is more real than the one he got elected with,” Walker said. “I don't understand. You know that's fake. You know Eberhard is fake. He sometimes went by Weisenheim, but that was also fake. I don't know what the real one is. The only other one I've ever known him as is the one he's using now as a senator.”

Veronica didn't seem to believe that, but JD didn't even care about the name. It wasn't going to get them what they needed.

“How did you manage to get me out of the desert and back to the casino?”

Veronica stared at him. “Wait, what are you—”

“It didn't make sense, me being moved from the desert where no one would hear me if I screamed and he could bury me right there with the others. Eberhard had no good reason to move me out of that house there on the site. And he was back there looking for me when Merrin confronted him. But why? Why would he be at the site if Eberhard had taken me there? Merrin hadn't done it. I knew that much. He knew where I was, but then... he had been to my room before, hadn't he? Why'd you do it? Why take me out of there and yet leave me to those bastards?”

Walker swallowed. “I... I was watching when they got you in the limo. I'd never been to the site. If I had, it would have been easy to find my husband's body. It wasn't. I followed them when they took you there. I had to park too far away. I couldn't drag a body back to my car.”

“But you could help a semi-conscious man to your car,” Veronica said. “You got him out and took him back to town.”

“I couldn't bring him to my home. Eberhard would never have let me have my husband's body if he knew I'd taken Dedman from him. I used the room at the casino. It was the only place I could think of at the time. They shouldn't have found him there, but Merrin did. He shot at me when I went to check on you.”

“I was tied up in that room.”

She winced. “I wasn't sure how you'd react when you woke and I wasn't there. I couldn't afford to risk you wandering off since I needed to know what you knew and if you had found the body. I was coming back. I'd gone for clothes and medical supplies.”

“Merrin shot me.”

“I know. I heard it. Why did you think I thought you were dead? I assumed they took you back out there to bury you.”

“I was drunk and in the back of a limo when they drove us out there. You weren't.”

“You want me to lead you out there? That place is gone.”

“That place is his sick and sacred burial ground. He rebuilt himself there after the feds were gone. You know it. I know it. Veronica knows it. What I don't know is how to get there, and while there may have been coordinates in the FBI files my sister hacked, I don't know that I'd trust them. They didn't find enough bodies, that's for damned sure.”

“You think the place where Merrin had his standoff was a decoy.”

“Yes.”

“Damn it.”

“The good news here is that Walker knows where the real one is. And she's going to take us to it.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip out to the desert is in order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was having a bit of trouble with this part. It's the life stuff, but it was also story related, as I wrote one flashback, realized it was in the wrong place, and switched it out only to realize it also didn't belong where I was trying to put it. So there's some more stuff coming, maybe a start on the next chapter, but admittedly, it's a bit frustrating to have the scene wrong so many times.

* * *

“You think she's actually going to take us there?” Veronica asked, eying the woman in the back seat of the car. She knew they didn't have time to linger—she wouldn't be surprised if someone around here claimed this was a kidnapping or something ridiculous like that. Still, she didn't know that she wanted to put all their faith in Walker. This woman had betrayed JD before, had set him up and offered him over to a pedophile—him being twenty at the time didn't change what that man was or how he might have done it anyway no matter how old he was.

Trusting Walker was a mistake, and Veronica didn't see JD making it twice.

“I think she has a few reasons to cooperate, not the least of which is the gun I stole from you once,” JD answered. “She's still reeling from me coming back from the dead, which puts her off her game, and I got her to admit to things she was going to keep hidden for the rest of her life. Her concern is this getting back to her daughter, which means she's given us leverage—”

“You're not seriously thinking of hurting her daughter, are you?”

“In the first place, we don't have time for that,” JD said. “And in the second—really? Why would I bother when I can use the _threat_ of it against her? I don't need to do jack shit to her daughter, but she would very likely believe that I _would,_ so we're fine.”

Veronica nodded, accepting that. She just wanted to know what his actual plan was this time, since he'd blindsided her last time. “All right. What are you planning on doing when we get there?”

“There were several houses. And I'm sure he had surveillance equipment set up, security cameras. The system may be more high tech these days.”

“Too much for your signal jammer?”

“Unlikely. It's meant to block everything, including wifi, and that's what this system would probably operate on if it was upgraded, though it should cancel out anything else as well. There's a chance it would work better with a booster, but we're not going to have time to wait for the kind I'd order,” he said, stopping with a bit of a frown. “What is that look for?”

“Just thinking how interesting it is that you are so specific about that when you hate technology.”

“I don't hate technology. I refrain from using most _modern_ technology because it's traceable, and I don't like being where people can find me. Speaking of finding people... we should go.”

She wasn't trying to delay, knowing they had to get to Enid as quickly as possible, but she wasn't gong to rush that, either. “You only have the one jammer. What happens when you want to split up and search the other houses?”

He shook his head. “Not an option if we're relying on stealth. We'd have to stick together. And quite possibly knock her over the head a little.”

“JD.”

“Come on, that bitch was willing to let me die for a _body._ She knew her husband was dead, but she sold me out to get a corpse. She might have gotten me out of there, but that doesn't mean I forgive her. I have scars on my back... I was in that sicko's hands... I got shot. I may not have killed her a few minutes ago, but don't think I'm over what she did. I haven't forgotten.”

Veronica couldn't blame him for that. She'd wanted to do a lot to Richards after she found out what he did to her, but she hadn't even had to worry about what she might have done because he'd died before her hands were free.

“So we agree. We're going to search the houses together.”

“I thought we already said that.”

“We implied it. I just want to know you're not going to do something crazy again.”

“Okay, I admit it—I was thinking we'd walk right up to the cameras, I'd stand in front of them with you beside me, and then... I'd dip you in one of those moves straight from a romantic movie with dancing and kiss you senseless, thereby distracting him and angering him all at once. He'll come confront us—I may steal your gun if you're still a bit out of it from the kiss—and he'll end up with a few dozen bullet holes, and all will be right with the world.”

“You are such an ass.”

“I do have a very nice one, thank you.”

Veronica shook her head, refusing to do that again. She couldn't afford to let him sidetrack them again, but she knew she'd have to be careful. He wasn't telling her everything—again—and she would have to watch him, since whatever the hell plan this was, he knew she wouldn't like it.

He'd have told her if he thought she'd go along with it. Since he hadn't, he was almost certainly planning something that would get him killed.

* * *

_“Come on, get up.”_

_“What?” JD had to be hallucinating. He couldn't be seeing some woman standing there in the doorway, not one that looked like Mrs. Walker, anyway. She was back safe in her house, and he was stuck here in hell, wishing he was dead._

_If Eberhard—no, he refused to think about that._

_“Come on,” she repeated, touching the rope around his hands. “We haven't got much time. I have a car. I can take you back to town. We'll get you help. You can tell the police what they did. They'll have to investigate now.”_

_He groaned, closing his eyes. He refused to hallucinate her trying to free him. “Go away and let me sleep. I don't want to have this dream. I'm not going to get out of here, and I hate false hope. God, that was the worst thing he did to me, made me think I'd be able to get away or make him happy enough that he wouldn't hurt me... but that was all part of the game... and I'm so tired of the games.”_

_“Mr. Dedman, this is not a game. I'm here. I followed you from the casino. It wasn't easy. They tried to lose me, and they went in circles, but fortunately, a limo is easy to spot in the desert. Now we don't have much time. I watched them leave the house, and they're busy arguing, but that won't last long. We have to go.”_

_“Why did you come for me? Your husband is probably downstairs. In the basement. Buried. I think—I know I touched a body down there. Probably his.”_

_“What kind of an idiot are you?” she demanded, pulling him by his now free arm. “Do you really think anyone could leave you when they found you like this?”_

_He nodded. “It happened before. There were lots of them. They didn't care about what the last one had done, only that they got their chance and when they were done using, they left me in worse shape than the one before them did. Never ending line... a blur... I like it to be a blur...”_

_“You're delirious.”_

_“He cut my back. Oh. He hit my head. I think I've got brain damage,” JD said, laughing. “Not that it wasn't before... Oh, hell. What am I saying? I think someone drugged me. It's more than a concussion. Fuck.”_

_“Then we need to get you to a doctor,” Walker insisted. “Let's go. That's it, stand up. Put your arm around my neck. I'll help you, but I can't carry you. You have to walk. Can you walk?”_

_“I think I can fly,” he muttered. “That is so a cliché thing to say when you're high, isn't it?”_

_“Yes, it is,” she agreed. “Just keep walking. That's it. We have to keep moving.”_

_“It's okay. You can leave me behind. Just... make sure I have a way to end it before they come back.”_

_“What? No. I'm getting you out of here. I have to. It's the only way I can live with myself.”_

_He thought that sounded funny, but he was too confused to figure out what she really meant._

* * *

“We shouldn't go any closer than this. I couldn't see any signs of security on the way in, but there's got to be something here,” JD said, and Veronica nodded. Walker had gotten more and more tense as they got nearer, and Veronica was sure she'd wanted to stop a long time ago. Her own foot had slowed on the accelerator a long time ago, letting them more or less coast along the nearly nonexistent path.

“All right,” Veronica said, stopping the car and shutting it off. She could see a rock formation in front of them, and she opened her door, stepping out for a better look, not that there was much to see here. Desert, rock, and more desert. 

She took out her gun, looking back at Walker in the car, trying to decide what they should do with the other woman. Did they dare leave her here, or should they drag her with them?

“Maybe we should shoot her.”

Veronica glared at him. “That's not funny.”

“She could run,” JD pointed out, and Veronica refused to acknowledge that, even if she'd been thinking about that herself. “Shooting her is the only guarantee, though I'm not sure I care if she does run so long as she doesn't take the car.”

“She's got nowhere to go,” Veronica said. She had the keys, and even if Walker could hard wire it, she didn't think that she'd get far. “Let's just see if we can find Enid.”

“Admit it, you don't think there's anything out here.”

Veronica couldn't deny that. “This doesn't look like much. You're sure she didn't lead us out in the middle of nowhere to die?”

“Oh, we might die, that's still possible,” JD said as he walked away from the car and up toward the rocks, “but there was something out here before, and I don't know that she would bother trying to lose us in the desert when she had easier options.”

Veronica hurried to catch up to him. “And if she is working with Eberhard again?”

“Even if she did, all she could have told him was that we'd come to see her. Eberhard doesn't know that she led us here. Look, you can keep picking at the flaws in our plan, but I never denied that it was. I just don't have a better one. Offering myself in Enid's place is an option—”

“Not really.”

“So we go forward here. And while I'm sure it would be a lot more impressive and a lot less intimidating in the morning...” JD stopped, pulling her forward around the rocks, and she stared in disbelief. 

The suburbs—in a horror movie as they were dark and shuttered and looking like they'd been abandoned for years—were sitting there, looming out of the desert and sheltered by the rocks around them. 

“Damn.”

“It's unnatural,” JD agreed. He looked around. “If I remember right, we parked in the middle and also went in the middle house. I'd been freaking out in the car and drank too much trying to calm down, so things are a little fuzzy for me at this point, but I was able to play up the drunk angle for a bit. Made a nuisance of myself over a bathroom and then pretended to pass out. It worked, but it wasn't the best plan then, either.”

“You think he'd be in the middle house?”

“I suspected before there was somewhere else, another house, not the one they were showing me, that had all of his surveillance equipment, but I never got a chance to find it. I went down into the basement of the house I'd been in. Its floor was dirt. I had a pretty good idea what I was standing on, and then he showed up.”

“You think that's where he has Enid?”

“Best guess at this point,” JD agreed. He took a deep breath. “Let's start with the closest house.”

That made sense. Veronica started toward the door, wincing as the porch groaned with her weight. She knew she wasn't heavy, but she was still wary of how decayed the wood could be here and how dangerous that was.

She pushed open the door and stepped inside. “Maybe we should have grabbed the flashlight.”

“I'll go get it if you want me to.”

“No.” Veronica didn't want to separate, wasn't sure he wouldn't disappear on her if she sent him back to the car. She knew this was a trap, but whether it was one he was making for himself or one Eberhard had already set for them, it was hard to be sure.

She wasn't leaving him alone until this was over.

Except, of course, bastard that he was, when she looked behind her, he wasn't there anymore.

* * *

Enid opened her eyes and groaned. Her head ached like that time she'd drank too much at Barley Matza's party, and she hadn't even meant to go because Barley was a dick, but she had, and she'd woken up with a stolen computer and a missing shoe. She didn't want to think about that because knowing that weirdo, he still had her shoe and she didn't want to know why.

Besides, that computer was an affront to technology and dying a slow death of viruses, most likely caused by his porn collection.

“I don't like drugs, you know,” she muttered, trying to sit up only to find her hands were tied together above her head. She was lying on her side.

Fuck. Her shirt was gone.

“Mr. Creepy Pedophile man?” Enid began, looking around the room. “Um... Sicko? Can I get my shirt back again? I noticed you didn't take my pants, and I want to think that's a good thing, but then... no shirt is almost never good for a lady and I told you before that one's special and I want it back.”

She didn't get an answer, not that she was expecting one. She doubted the jerk was willing to admit he was there or answer her. Probably thought he was scarier that way, not that she hadn't given him a way to get at her since she was upset about the shirt.

Then again, why wouldn't she be worried by the fact that he'd taken her shirt? Just because she was older than this guy usually creeped on didn't mean that he wouldn't hurt her or even grope her.

She grimaced, not liking that thought for a second. She wanted to go back home, squeeze her quaggan, and have a slushie. Then again, she supposed she should add some vain hopes like her mother getting sober just like that and her brother being fine and sticking around and maybe even marrying Veronica—Enid was on the fence about that part, though if it made it so that she worked with Jay and her brother stayed and made a business again like before, then she was for it, mostly. Hmm, and maybe while she was dreaming, she should conjure up someone for herself, too.

“Ah, there you are, my little charmer. Awake again, I see. I'm glad. I didn't want to wait any longer,” he said, coming up behind her. “I don't know what it is about you... or your brother. Something in those genes, though I don't see how they could have come from Bud. That man was not half as interesting as he thought he was—truly, the only thing worth knowing about Bud Dean was your brother. He has always been something, Jason has, and I sometimes think he has only gotten better with age.”

“That's kind of a rare sentiment for you, isn't it?”

“Oh, indeed,” he said, leaning over her. “I usually find I've no interest in adults. They're always very tedious, and there's that loss of innocence and jaded nature that makes so many of them unappealing. Your brother, on the other hand, he never stopped trying to fight me, and your father... well, he had well and truly broken him that first time. I thought it such a waste.”

“Yeah, sure, because you're all about fair play and stuff,” she said. “You don't want someone who fights back.”

“No, they don't get to _win,”_ he corrected. “I want them to fight. Struggle is half the appeal.”

She rolled her eyes. “I really don't need to tell you that you're sick, right?”

“I am aware of how I do not fit with society. However, I am sure that morality will continue to change, and in time, my tastes will be just as acceptable as things that were taboo only a few years ago. It is inevitable. As, my dear, is this,” he said, and something sharp poked her back. She tensed, biting down on her lip to avoid crying out. “It is time I put my mark on you, just as I did your brother.”

“No.”

“I don't think there's much you can do about it,” he told her, amused, and despite herself, she screamed when he pushed the blade into her back.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica looks for JD, Enid deals with a creep, and JD finds trouble... business as usual, kind of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... this part sort of replayed in my head over and over as I tried to sleep last night. I admit, it was not an easy night. This is... more than a little horrible, though if anyone's made it this far, I think they'll be okay as I can't ever get really graphic.
> 
> It's just... a bit rough for a few people, and I still didn't get to use my flashbacks. Oops.

* * *

Veronica looked around in the darkness.

The hell.

How had JD managed to disappear on her so fast? She swore he'd been behind her only a few seconds ago. It wasn't that long between when he'd offered to get the flashlight and when she'd turned back to find he was gone. She didn't think he could have made it all the way around the rock formation again, and even the other houses seemed too far, but he was definitely gone. She didn't understand how he'd just vanished like that, but she didn't like it one bit.

Now he was missing, too, and she wasn't sure how he'd gotten so far from her, but she swore she'd kill him. This was ridiculous. He couldn't wait five seconds for her? She had been about to grab her phone and use it as a flashlight instead of going back for one, and she still would, but why had he felt like he needed to leave like that?

She looked around again, an uneasy feeling settling in her stomach.

This place was too damned quiet, even for the desert at night. It was like there was nothing here at all, no life under the ground, not even a cricket, and she thought those things were everywhere. Maybe that was just cartoons, though. Crickets meant nighttime, so that was how they made the night sound no matter where a person was.

Still... something about this silence was unnatural. This place was wrong, and not just because it was a serial killer's favorite haunt. Or because Bud Dean built it, with whatever sick thoughts were in his head.

She twisted her lip. Had JD figured out something about this place because of his father? All she knew of the man was a couple brief encounters that left her feeling weirded out and dirty—and she understood why now, but hadn't done more than grimace and ban Bud from the wedding.

What did this place say about anyone except they were extremely screwed up in the head?

And then she almost swore herself. It was a desert, but that meant sand. She dug out her phone and pointed it at the ground, lighting up the dirt. It wasn't the clear sort of thing that a crime scene tech would like and would happily map as the job was stupid easy, but there was enough places where the dirt was depressed or scuffed for her to see a path.

And that not just one person had walked it—if one had even walked it at all. That middle set of tracks did not look at all like they should, skipping steps and dragging along.

Okay, so if JD saw this—which she wasn't sure how he could have since he didn't carry a phone and she couldn't see it without hers—he'd know which building to go into, but why would he run off without her if he'd figured it out? She had the gun.

Unless he'd lied about that, too, but she didn't know when he'd managed to get hold of one and hide it without her seeing it, even if the drive had been tense and distracting with Walker giving her directions. JD was in the seat next to her the entire time.

And he'd ditched the suit jacket along the drive. She remembered that. She'd have seen him try and stash a gun without it, and if he'd been planning on that, he never would have taken the jacket off.

JD had come out here unarmed and disappeared.

Fuck.

* * *

Enid really wanted her quaggan. She wanted to hold it and cry. She might have been trained in defense—kind of—but she still didn't tolerate pain that well. Oh, she'd been able to drag herself into her car and she'd done a hack, but she wasn't near her car right now. She didn't have her tablet. She'd be calmer if she had her tablet, if her hands were free, or if she had her shirt.

She really, really didn't like how much that unsettled her, undermined her. She had felt a lot stronger the last time, and she'd been shot. That guy had meant to kill her. This freak might have cut her, but he was only doing it to scar, not to kill, so she shouldn't be as upset.

Only she was. She was terrified, and she wanted to get out of here. She had to get out of here quick or she would lose it. She just... didn't know how.

She felt the knife on her back again, and she bit back a whimper. She hated this guy. She really did. If she got free again, she'd hurt him. A lot. She was going to make him pay for everything he'd done to her—and more. She wanted to get him for what he'd done to Jay, too, and even for the others, the ones she didn't know.

She didn't know how she'd do that. She was a crying, whimpering—not that she let him hear her—mess. She couldn't save anyone or avenge anyone. She was just going to get hurt. He was going to carve her back up, and that was not funny or ironic given her name—maybe she'd start going by something else, not that she wanted to use Dean because Bud was just as bad if not worse than this guy.

She tried to think of something brave and great to say, something that would show she wasn't afraid or anything, but the door banged open, and she did scream.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” the man demanded. “You know better than to interrupt me when I'm with a guest.”

“We found someone out there prowling around. Thought you'd want to know immediately.”

“I don't pay you to think,” the other man said, clearly annoyed. “I assume that because you came all the way here you have this person with you. Where is he?”

“Here,” the other man said, and Enid choked when she saw Jay dragged into the room. His suit might have been nice before those guys got hold of him, but now it was torn and dirty, and he was bleeding from a split lip.

She'd wanted to see her brother again, but not like this. She'd wanted him to find her and come, but she didn't want him hurt like this. She supposed she'd figured on something from a movie or something, where he showed up to take out the guards after she'd just vanquished the evil boss in the tower.

Okay, so a video game, but the point was that Jay wasn't supposed to be caught and at this guy's mercy, too. He should have won, come in all triumphant and maybe a little bloody depending on the gore setting of the game, but not like this.

“You're early,” he said to Jay, but he sounded pleased, thrilled, and it sickened her. She was going to puke right here, which was so gross because she'd be tied next to it. “I thought we'd have to wait until you won that ridiculously overpriced car.”

“Please. It's a thirty-thousand dollar replica.”

“No, this is a real one. You'd ignored replicas in the past, and time was running out, so I purchased a real one. Damned thing cost three million,” he grumbled, but it turned to a smile as he added, “and worth every cent now that you're here, Jason.”

“You got what you wanted. You lured me here. Let the girl go.”

Eberhard laughed. “Oh, no. Not her. Not when I know she's your sister and I haven't finished marking her. Speaking of marks, I know I told you both not to ever touch something that is mine.”

The man holding Jay frowned. “I didn't know he was yours. He doesn't have a mark—”

“What do you call this?” Eberhard asked, yanking up Jay's shirt to expose his back to the other man. Jay glared at him, and Enid actually hoped he got free and killed him or something, even if that was bad to think. “Idiots. Quit looking at the girl and take him over to the bed. Tie him next to his sister. We have a lot to do yet as her mark isn't finished.”

Enid looked down at her shirtless chest and swore. Those pervs had been staring the entire time, but she'd been so focused on Jay she hadn't noticed until that jerk said something.

She expected Jay to fight more as he was lead over to the bed, but he didn't, and she didn't like it. Jay hadn't already given up just because this guy was a sicko, had he? This creep didn't get to win. She was going to get her brother fighting again if it was the last thing she did.

The goons yanked Jay's arms up and tied them to the bedpost like hers, only he was sitting up and not stuck on his side. They had just finished when the shots rang out, and Enid screamed, thinking someone must have shot Jay, but he didn't so much as slump. The men who'd just bound him were gone, though. She couldn't see them around him now.

“It's so cliché to say it's impossible to find good help, but I have to admit that line is so very true,” Eberhard said, and Enid gagged, knowing he'd just killed both of his guards. “Such a waste. Not even worth killing properly.”

“And I suppose properly means cutting them up and torturing them, right?” Jay asked. “I mean, you'd skip the rest of it with them. They're too old for you, couldn't pass for pubescent as their sole purpose was muscle, but sometimes you need a little something upstairs. I don't see why it is all megalomaniacs, fictional or not, seem to fall for that old trap of thinking brute force is all they need in a subordinate. You'd think that it would occur to one of these masterminds that a little brains go a long way in henchmen.”

“Ah, that wit,” Eberhard said, leaning forward to caress Jay's cheek. “I have missed it. And I'm very much looking forward to reacquainting myself with it, but these idiots are still in my way, and I'm afraid I'll have to deal with them first. You'll have to excuse me.”

“Take your time. Go ahead and bury them. No need to rush back for us.”

“Oh, Jason,” Eberhard laughed, and Enid could hear the way he patted Jay's cheek even if she couldn't see all of it with him looming the way he was and Jay's back in the way. “You're very amusing. Both of you are. You know I won't take a second longer than I have to. I've waited too damned long to get you back again.”

Jay jerked back and almost fell on her, and Enid flinched, not quite getting out of the way as Eberhard kissed him. She gagged all over again, feeling her brother tremble against her as the sicko backed away.

“Really, if they weren't in my way now, I'd finish that conversation right here and now,” Eberhard told him with a leer, making Jay turn his head.

“Grandstanding, huh? Not really impressive when you have to do your own dirty work,” Enid said. “Besides, I didn't see any Viagra around, so I bet you can't do anything about that little problem of yours anyway. Guess you should just take the bodies and go.”

“Humor and insults as defense mechanisms. Very cute. Very similar. Your sister reminds me a lot of you, Jason. It was difficult to control myself around her.”

Jay snorted. “Like you care about controlling yourself. Your victims, maybe, because you're definitely a power rapist in addition to the pedophile side. You pick weaker victims, strong enough to give you a challenge but never ones that can really fight because you need to dominate but you have to feel like you're not just preying on the weak. That makes you more powerful, subduing someone strong—or at least the illusion of it. Really, it's pathetic. And your breath stinks so stop leaning over me like that and find a breath mint.”

Enid smiled. That sounded very much like Jay at his best, throwing out observations and theories, and he sounded just as calm as he did any time he'd been Judas Dane. It was good to hear, even if she knew he was probably faking it.

“We are going to continue this later,” Eberhard said, forcing another kiss, this one longer and more invasive than the last one, only letting go when he needed to draw in air again. Jay gagged, and Eberhard laughed as he bent to grab the body.

Enid wanted to help Jay, but she couldn't do much comforting like this. She couldn't touch him, and she didn't want to say anything else in front of that guy 'cause he'd just get off on it.

This really sucked.

* * *

JD needed a few thousand bottles to get that taste out of his mouth, but he needed to stay focused now. He didn't know how long it would take Eberhard to move the bodies, and he knew they needed to use it. He just... really wanted a drink or a gun, something to get rid of those memories and what Eberhard had done a few minutes ago.

He closed his eyes and breathed in and out slowly, trying to calm himself. He reached up to test the ropes. Idiots the goons might have been, but they'd tied a secure knot.

“I know this guy screws with your head, but you just let them tie you up?” Enid asked, and he twisted to look back at her. “Um... sorry. I... That part actually scared me a little because it was like you gave up, and I may be trying to cover my fear with anger because I'm... I refuse to be a pathetic damsel in distress.”

He snorted. “Please. You are nothing of the sort. Now help me break the headboard.”

“What?”

He smiled at her. “I did let them tie me up without a fight, but not because I was broken or even having a flashback. You heard him with them. He was going to have to step out and discipline them, which meant he'd leave us alone for a bit. Tying me next to you was a lot better than some of the other options he had for controlling me—from my point of view, that is—and so he did it, thinking I was secured and he could leave the room. His mistake, as we now have enough strength to overcome that headboard. Maybe not if it was a thicker wood, but this? Come on, baby sis. You can do this.”

“Don't call me that, and I'm going to smack you as soon as my hands are free,” Enid said, but she twisted herself around so she could get better leverage. “On three?”

“Screw waiting for three, just do it,” JD said, and she rolled her eyes as they both yanked on the wood. It didn't give much at first but then started to bend and splinter. “Keep going. That's it. Bit more...”

The wood snapped and they both fell back. He hit with a groan, feeling the bruise he'd got when he was sucker punched by the guard.

And the fresh one his sister gave him. Not that she hadn't warned him, but still.

“What the hell, Niddie?”

“That's for being a big dumb idiot and getting caught. Trading yourself for me was not an option, and you really pulled the disappearing thing again? Are you really that mentally deficient? You needed help, and Veronica is not just here so you can make moony eyes at her.”

“You need to stay away from the anime,” he muttered, annoyed. “Real people don't act like that.”

“Ha, I knew you had watched some.”

“I worked with you for a long time,” he reminded her. “I didn't connect your silly cartoon to the word, but I saw you making moony eyes of your own at the guy in the tux.”

“Hey, Tuxedo Mask rocked a very nice suit.”

JD rolled his eyes, forcing himself up off the bed despite his aches and fatigue. He looked down at the floor, watching his step as he bypassed the body to cross the room. “Whatever. For the record, I _did_ come here with Veronica, and I did not ditch her. I got jumped outside the building she was already inside. I heard this sound, wasn't sure what it was, and next thing I know, a guy has a hand over my mouth and another one hits me straight in the gut. Can't breathe, can't scream, get dragged into another building and roughed up some more before they decided to inform their leader.”

“Damn. How bad?” 

“Bumps and bruises.” 

“And Veronica?” 

“No idea. If she didn't notice right away that I wasn't with her, she might have searched that whole house. As it is... she could be hurt or worse,” JD admitted. He pulled open the dresser, took out the only thing in it, and threw it to his sister. “Here. That might help, even if I'm not even looking at you.” 

“God, that is so demeaning. Do you have any idea what—never mind,” Enid cut herself off. “I just... he made it worse doing that, even if he didn't actually touch me there, just started making that mark on my back like yours.” 

“Be glad he has that ritual. It delayed him from worse,” JD said. “Okay, you have to be the distraction.” 

“What? No. You know that won't work. I heard that guy. He is straight up sicko obsessed with you. He's not going to look at me.” 

“We need him to have his attention on you and not on me. That's the only way this works.” 

Enid frowned. “I don't like this plan.” 

“Of course not. It's one of mine, and mine are bad and borderline insane at best,” he agreed, lifting what he needed from the dresser. “He won't fall for a behind the door thing, so... I'll be across the hall.” 

“Don't you dare.” 

“Enid,” he said, using the command voice, the one that made people still in the middle of a séance or any other performance, the one that demanded silence. “Look at me. I won't let anything happen to you. You know that, don't you?” 

She nodded, tears welling up again. “I do, but I don't like this.” 

He figured she was right not to, but he wasn't going to tell her that. He knew he couldn't hide anywhere in this room, so across the hall was the only real option, and it sucked. He did need the distraction, though, and Enid could give it to him. He trusted her with that. 

He kissed the top of her head and hurried over to the other room, getting in place just as he heard someone on the stairs. He willed himself to stay calm. This would take everything he had and then some, but it had to be done. He had to be the one to do it, or he'd never forgive himself, would always feel like he should have done more, since he never got back the power that was taken from him. 

Damn, sometimes JD hated knowing as much about psychology as he did.

“He abandoned you? Please. You don't expect me to believe that, do you?" 

“I don't care what you believe,” Enid said, “but you know... I don't want to spend any time with you, and you only cut up my back. If I'd had to kiss you, I'd have taken off running, too.” 

JD almost wanted to laugh. It shouldn't be funny. It wasn't, but it was a good reason to add to his hatred of the bastard, not that he needed more reasons. He forced himself forward, moving as quietly as he could, hoping Eberhard stayed distracted. 

He crossed the last bit in one motion, darting forward and catching the other man around the neck, not much differently than he'd been caught earlier. He brought up the knife he knew the fucker had used on Enid and put it right against the man's back. 

“I'm sure you're very aware of where this knife is sitting right now,” JD said. “Remember when you told me how you broke your victim's spine so he couldn't run away from you? I've had a long time to think about it, and I'm pretty damned sure you deserve nothing less.” 


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JD and Enid have a killer to deal with, and Veronica finds a bit of trouble of her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At first I thought it was basically over when JD got hold of Eberhard, but really... that was too easy after all that they'd gone through... and while it might have been fitting to do what he threatened, he isn't the same person he once was... plus there was a nice moment for Enid and Veronica had to do some stuff and... well, anyway, this happened.
> 
> And if anything is off or unrealistic... I'm going to blame that on this wonderful cold I've developed which may or may not be the pneumonia coming back again, ugh.

* * *

“You are endlessly amusing, Jason. You think you can?” Eberhard laughed. “I don't. I know better. I know you better. You won't be able to do it. It takes a certain kind of man to sever a spine, and you would know nothing of what that man is, since you yourself were so broken. You can claim all you want, but I saw you, remember? I know what you were like when Bud took you from Vegas. Completely subservient, eager and desperate to please. You'd do anything he told you to, and you did. It was disgusting but effective watching you lick his boots.”

Enid shuddered herself at that idea. That was gross on so many levels. Shoes went all sorts of sick places, but to have Jay do that, willingly, to a man like their father—no. Eberhard was lying. He was just saying that to screw with Jay's head, and she hoped he wouldn't listen to it.

“Hey, I almost kicked your ass, so I don't doubt that he can,” Enid said, and Eberhard glared over at her. She shrugged. “You know I was winning before you drugged me. You only won by cheating, and that's nothing to be proud of, either.”

“Pride is a curious thing, my dear. I think you have a bit too much of it, whereas your brother here... he has almost none. Not that he's done much to be proud of. Has he told you what it was like for him here in Vegas?”

“The words hell on earth come to mind.”

Eberhard laughed. “Is that what he called it? Poetic, I suppose, but hardly accurate. Perhaps hedonistic is a better description.”

Enid tried not to gag.

“Oh, yes, you know what I mean, don't you?” Eberhard pressed. “Your father used him as an ante in some very high stakes poker games. At first, he won, with an irritating amount of frequency. He also lost... at an alarming but very enjoyable rate for so many of us. The thing is, Jason was infinitely useful, allowing him to be bet over and over again, and I don't think your brother spent any time alone—or out of bed—for several months. The amount of men and women who've experienced his unique favors is... quite impressive, though I doubt you think so. It disgusts you, doesn't it?”

Enid swallowed. She _did_ feel sick, and she really hoped that this guy was lying or at least exaggerating, but Jay was really messed up just by being here in Vegas, so it fit in a horrible sense. “Yes, I find it disgusting, but not for the reasons you think. I find men—and women—who'd use someone like that disgusting. I find their willingness to look the other way or encourage this kind of thing revolting. And you? You're worse than _any_ of them because you're sitting there gloating about it and trying to get me to blame him. You won't. It wasn't his fault. He shouldn't have to feel ashamed because he was attacked by a bunch of sickos. All of you sickos should be ashamed of what you did to him. And believe me, as much as I hate blood and am mostly a girl for video game or cartoon violence—okay, there are comics, too, I suppose I'm that much of a geek—if I had that knife, I'd kill you myself for what you did. Don't think you can start convincing him I'll hate him for it. I won't.”

“I suppose you are Bud Dean's daughter. He did find violence—and explosions—rather arousing.”

Enid wanted to puke. “God, I need a slushie. Jay, you want to go get one? We'll kill him, leave his sorry ass here, and go.”

“If I associate slushies with killing, I'll never enjoy one again, as satisfying as ending this one might be,” Jay told her. “Besides, exactly what satisfaction would I get from killing a dying man?”

“What?”

Eberhard frowned. “Your speeches are—”

“You said there wasn't much time. You were willing to shell out three million dollars for a car to use as bait when you couldn't be sure I'd even seen your damned ads for it. You couldn't find me. I'd gone too far too ground and off the grid for you. You were desperate to find me, desperate enough to put yourself at risk by entering the political arena and under all the scrutiny that would come down on you as you got elected. You knew you didn't have much time, so you did everything you could think of to get my attention. Of course, I'd moved on from what you did, unlike you. I'm not some idiot who can't get over the ones that got away—well, as far as the people I intended to kill, at least—there's a whole high school's worth of them that are still alive now and I could care less. I almost didn't come at all.”

Enid noticed he'd corrected himself, not that she wouldn't know that he was lying about not caring about the one who got away—he had done way too much for Veronica for anyone to believe he didn't.

“So, what, cancer?” Enid asked. “Shouldn't you already be dead, then? And you're way too strong and it's just—I don't know. I don't see it. Which isn't to say you don't have brilliant insights, Jay, but you need to be a bit more specific.”

She heard him snort. “Seriously? Fine, the first thought was cancer, but he lived too long—through the campaign and getting elected—and so I considered other options. I thought about Alzheimer's, but so far he's shown far too much accuracy in memory, so it's not that, but considering where he's been and what he's done... perhaps syphilis? Seems fitting.”

“Gross.”

“You asked.”

Eberhard rolled his eyes. “Are we done with this tediousness yet?”

“What, you want Jay to kill you? Is that what this was about?” Enid asked, frowning. She supposed she could almost see it, if maybe he thought his last act should be revenge by forcing his victim to kill him and live with that guilt for the rest of his life.

Except... Enid wasn't sure anyone would feel guilty about this. Even Veronica who was a bit more hung up on the rules, she'd accept that this guy should just... die. He'd abducted, tortured, and killed kids. At least thirteen people—fifteen, counting the two guards he'd shot here—were dead at his hands, and it wasn't like they didn't think there were a lot more down in the basement.

“No,” Jay disagreed. “He wanted to finish what he started. He's a collector. He couldn't stand me getting away from him. And he might not have been able to get rid of Bud himself, but someone had to stand in for him—and it could have been me, but then he has other reasons why he fixated on me—and so he chose you.”

“I never even knew Bud. I wouldn't have wanted to.”

“Doesn't matter. You've got his blood.”

“How did he even know about me?”

“Knowing him? He met Bud back around the time he knew your mother, and he was always aware of your existence—including hiring your mother on at his casino to keep an eye on both of you. He planned ahead—you were proof of Bud's criminal acts, and he could have used you for leverage whenever he wanted. He never took you as a kid because you weren't his type and Bud had already died by the time I slipped through his fingers the second time, but he still kept some tabs on you, since there was always a possibility of using you against me. He might have done things very differently had I not shown I was in Vegas, but I have to wonder if your mother's current paramour met her by accident.”

“What, you think he set my mom up? Playing matchmaker to—oh, you fucking asshole. You got her involved with a guy she thought was good and decent but is really abusive and screwed over her mind so she'd think she deserved that kind of thing because of what Bud did to her and... and she's been drinking and... You did all that to her to get me to come back to Vegas?”

“Easier access,” Eberhard said with a thin smile.

“Jay, give me that knife.”

“You don't want that on your hands,” he said. “There's already blood on mine, and no offense, Niddie, but my reasons for hurting him trump yours.”

Enid knew they did and confronting their abuser was a part of getting past that sort of thing, if it was at all possible—she had looked into it for her mother and even offered to take her to Bud Dean's grave to do it, but her mom had never agreed. Jay needed this, even if she wanted to do it herself and she was getting a little worried that he couldn't.

“Okay, fine. Let's kill him and go find Veronica.”

“You brought that woman here?” Eberhard demanded, angry. Enid was surprised by how quickly that set him off, deteriorating into incoherent threats and insults.

“Wow. He does not like your girlfriend.”

“She's not my girlfriend.”

“Oh, right, fiancée,” Enid correcting herself, watching Eberhard squirm with a little too much glee. She loved that lie. It was the best one she'd ever told. It just kept getting better and better.

Then, because it was probably the worst possible time and life was so like that, she heard another gunshot echo in the house.

“Veronica,” Jay said, and Eberhard used his distraction to slam him back into the wall, knocking him down. He groaned, the knife falling from his hand as he struggled to catch his breath. She saw blood on it, so it had to have hit Eberhard first, but he still fell free and was able to grab the knife before Jay got it.

He gave her brother a cruel smile as he lifted the knife. “You are still mine, even if that only means that no one else will have you.”

* * *

Veronica rounded the back of the houses, having lost the trail somewhere along the way between them. Everything got blurred not far from the one, and she'd lost time checking the one on her right. That one had been empty the entire time, though it wasn't like she could accept that until she'd gone through the whole thing.

She knew, as much as she wanted to skip over the other rooms, that failing to check any of them could mean JD or Enid's death, so she kept on, going through every room and closet. She even went down to the basement.

The unfinished dirt floor left her with the unpleasant feeling she was standing on a grave, and she didn't linger, moving on as quickly as she could to get back outside. She crossed to the other house and stopped when she found the door open.

She swallowed as she watched it, uneasy. She knew very well that this could be a trap, and if it was, she couldn't afford to walk right into it. JD almost certainly had been captured, Enid was taken, and that left Veronica as the only one moving freely, and she had to stay that way.

She held her gun out in front of her, taking a few steps forward, pressing against the wall next to door. She listened for movement, hearing nothing.

She didn't have much choice. She had to try it. She took a deep breath, stepping inside, and a shot rang out, coming way too close to her head. She ducked down, taking a minute to look around the room as she tried to calm her pulse and breathe. She didn't love this part of her job, though she sometimes wondered if she would have been more hooked on the adrenaline of it had she not killed Kurt Kelly.

Part of that was exciting, and it wasn't just about JD. She might have been a bit of a junkie, hooked on living dangerously, if not for the PTSD making that hard to cope with as much as she might crave it.

She saw a bit of movement out of the corner of her eye and turned, firing two shots. A man cried out, and she moved forward, going over to where he was bent, holding his leg and cursing her. She picked up his gun with her free hand, keeping hers pointed at him.

“Where are they?”

“Fuck you.”

“You want me to shoot you again?”

He grunted. “Better you than him if I don't do what he says. You seen what he does to them? Fuck no. Not doing that. Go ahead.”

She frowned. This was not what she wanted at all. “If you tell me where he is, I can shoot him, too, and you won't have to worry about him. You might even live to testify against him. Now where the fuck is he?”

“Upstairs.”

“Anyone else here?”

“He had the girl there, and they took him up some guy. They came down dead. You will, too.”

“Not likely,” Veronica muttered to herself, refusing to accept that Eberhard would get either JD or Enid. As much as she was still conflicted about JD and annoyed with Enid over the wedding thing, she cared too much about either of them to let something happen to them.

She left the man on the floor, still holding his leg, and started up the stairs. She knew he could have lied, and maybe the others were down in the basement, but she hoped not, since that would mean that they were already dead. She was almost certain none of those basements had a purpose besides burial, and she hadn't been separated from JD for long enough for that to happen.

Enid, though... 

Veronica forced the thought from her head as she went up the stairs. She heard each one creak under her feet, knowing there was no way she was the least bit stealthy about this, but maybe she didn't need to be.

She didn't have much choice. She reached the top and went for the open door again, knowing she should be more cautious about guns, since she'd almost been shot downstairs, but she didn't know that she could wait. If Eberhard had them, he might have tried to kill them both before she got up here.

She stopped in the doorway and winced.

* * *

JD had maimed pedophiles before, during his time as Judas Dane and a few other times along the way. Making sure they paid—and, if possible—making sure they never hurt another child so long as they lived—seemed only fitting when he thought about it, and while there was some part of him that had a bit of regret that he'd lost control in most of those cases, he'd been glad to see those fuckers get what they deserved.

He shouldn't have had any qualms about doing the same to Eberhard, but things got complicated. Enid was not only watching this, but Veronica was around somewhere, and he might have let those things influence him too much.

And then he'd almost lost it when Eberhard started telling Enid about everything Bud had done in Vegas. The shame was overwhelming, and the memories tried to drag him down, to where he might have lost control of Eberhard right then and there. 

She'd turned all of that on him, and while his mind still tried to betray him, at least his baby sister hadn't. She was fierce, that one, and he loved her for it, in as much as he could love anything. She was special, that much was true, and he knew that even if Bud had passed on some genes to her, she got the better ones. She didn't deserve what Eberhard had planned for her.

Her mother didn't, either, and while he knew Eberhard had to pay for that, Enid couldn't do that. She'd regret it, as bloodthirsty as she might be now, and he wouldn't let her put that her hands.

He'd been about to end it when the gun shot came, and as much as he'd tried to keep himself focused, the idea of Veronica downstairs bleeding out distracted him. Eberhard had used that, slamming them both back into the wall.

JD had the wind knocked out of him, and he couldn't move, losing control of the knife. Eberhard got it before he could move.

“You are still mine, even if that only means that no one else will have you.”

JD caught his arm, struggling with him and wishing whatever it was that had Eberhard convinced he was dying had weakened him more. He wasn't easy to subdue, even if he should be at his age. This bastard just wouldn't quit. 

Wait. Hubris, that was this guy's weakness, wasn't it? Brute strength was never the way to win against him—he didn't play fair, weakened opponents who'd been drugged, beaten, or paralyzed. He always had to believe his victim was controlled, that he'd won. That was when he was the most vulnerable. Like the part with the headboard. He'd fallen for that.

JD grimaced, knowing this plan was going to hurt, but he could stand pain. He also had to win, and this would work. He let his grip slip just a little, and Eberhard smiled, thinking he hadn't done it on purpose, using the weakness to force the blade into JD's side. He cried out, wishing they didn't always hit the same damned spot—that one was still tender from Richards the asshole—and he didn't have to fake a reaction to it at all.

“Jay,” Enid cried, and he knew his sister would rush to help him, but if she did, she'd leave Eberhard the perfect opening.

“Don't let him close,” JD grit out, but then he heard more shots from downstairs, looking toward the door. Damn it, Veronica. That had better have been her, not one of his goons. She had to be okay, or this wouldn't be worth much.

Though he'd given Eberhard what he needed, and the bastard managed to stab him—once, twice more, in quick succession, and he knew he'd overplayed this part. He might actually bleed out from this one. Fuck. He swore, turned his head away and letting his eyes close as he fought the pain.

“I'll finish with you in a second,” Eberhard promised him, and JD knew he was going for Enid. He'd figured on that, too, though he'd also figured on not hurting half this bad when he made his move.

Eberhard advanced on Enid. She backed around the bed, putting it in between them, and he followed like an idiot, smiling as he did. JD forced himself up as he did, grabbing the dresser for help. He threw himself at Eberhard's back, knocking him to the ground, getting the knife from him.

This time he didn't hesitate. He stabbed it right into the bastard's back, right into that part of his spine he'd pointed out before. JD leaned over him, next to his ear.

“Dying really is too good for you, and if you expected mercy, fuck you. You can spend whatever time you have left like this, unable to leave, unable to move... all those things you did to all of us... you should suffer and die so fucking slowly you have time to regret every time you ever glanced at some kid. Because yeah, we'll let them know you're out here, call them from here and let them find you and all the other bodies. You might even be alive when they get here, and won't that be a very fun conversation for you?”

“I'll tell them you did this.”

JD laughed, rolling off of him to sit back and assess his wound. “Have you forgotten that nagging little detail that I happen to be dead? Yeah, good luck with that.”

“Jay?” Enid asked, leaning over the bed to peer at him. “Oh, god, you are so bleeding... I'm going to be sick.”

“If you're gonna puke, do it on Eberhard,” Veronica told her, and JD looked over to see her in the door way, gun in hand, looking super sexy and dangerous as well as pissed off.

“You're beautiful,” he told her, because she was, even as his vision was going blurry and dark.

“You're an asshole.”

“Oh, please, can you two stop denying it and admit you love each other already?”

“Enid, don't make me shoot you.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JD is the worst patient. Ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I finally got to use my flashbacks I wrote a few chapters back, and I was pleased by that.
> 
> Then JD kind of... stole the story and I don't even know how to explain what happened. Except, maybe, he's a jerk?

* * *

_The bullet splintered the wood, and JD's head felt like it was on fire. He groaned, and then another shot rang out, and he felt the same fire in his chest, burning through him. He was dying. Merrin was insane, and he'd shot him, and he was going to die, tied to a headboard, a prisoner._

_He'd die naked and alone and tied up, and he didn't want that. Why couldn't he just have died when he tried to blow himself up? He could have finished the whole school. He should have. He should have stayed in that boiler room and blown it all to hell, himself included._

_Except, Veronica was out there, and for some stupid reason, he'd had to see her one last time, even if he knew that was a big, stupid mistake._

_And then Bud had found him and he didn't die._

_He'd lived, but what the hell for? To be Bud's little toy again? Even now that the bastard was gone, JD was still suffering, and he didn't understand why he was even still here. If he'd done something worthwhile, ever, in his life, then maybe he should be, but since he knew he hadn't, why did he keep surviving?_

_Not that he would here, not if Merrin had his way, and JD almost wanted to accept that, but fuck this. He refused to die like this. He twisted the ropes around, pulling on the board that was already broken. It snapped, and he took his hands down, slipping the rope off of them._

_He groaned as he forced himself from the bed, stumbling toward the dresser. He didn't know what he'd find in there, torture implements, most likely, but he didn't care if that was all it had. At least that was a better way of dying than bleeding out on the bed._

_He almost laughed when he found clothes. Fine, then. That went along with his not dying like this. He pulled on the pants first, figuring he'd still go out without a shirt but never without pants. No. That was just... wrong._

_He managed to last long enough to yank the shirt over his head and stumbled to the door, falling by it. He forced himself up to open it, crawling out into the hallway. He used the wall, dragging himself forward until he almost felt like he could stand. He used the door frame, pulling himself onto his feet and taking a few steps forward._

_He fell into the wall, and he almost didn't move again, but he thought he saw something ahead of him, and he had to keep going, had to know if he was really seeing what he thought he was._

_“The fuck?” he asked, confused. “A casino. How the hell did I get to a casino?”_

_“The usual way, I bet,” a girl said, and he looked down at her, wondering if he was hallucinating her. “How much did you have to drink? Or were you high with your client?”_

_Great. That little brat thought he was a prostitute._

_“My client was a woman,” he said, about to explain that he was some stupid excuse for a detective, but everything spun just before it went completely dark, and he knew nothing else._

* * *

“Jay?” Enid jumped over the bed, landing on Eberhard and not caring one bit as she went over to her brother's side. She'd teased him a minute ago, but he wasn't answering, and she didn't like when he was quiet. Quiet and Jay were not good things. Not ever.

“I swear that's where Richards got him,” Veronica muttered, sounding worried. She grabbed the sheet from the bed and yanked it over to Jay's side, using it to cover the wound, which was a relief. “Come on, JD. You're too stubborn to die here. You didn't die before, not when I shot you, not in that car accident, not when my psychotic boss stabbed you... Not the last time he hurt you, and not now. He doesn't win.”

“Or maybe I do, bitch,” Eberhard said, and Enid kicked him, even if he couldn't feel it because Jay had severed his spine. That was a fitting revenge.

“I don't think so,” another woman said, coming into the room, a small white box in her hands. Enid frowned, having no idea who this one was.

Veronica looked back at her. “I thought you—”

“I'm not heartless. That's my problem,” she muttered, bringing the box with her to JD's side. She took out the gauze and the bandages. “Also, I called the police not long after we got here. They're already on their way.”

“Really?” Enid said. “Wait, who the hell are you?”

“First client,” JD said, and Enid looked at him, wanting to smack him for scaring her again. “Enid, Mrs. Walker. Walker... sister... Enid.”

“Uh... hi,” Enid said, still not sure how this all fit together, except she knew that Mrs. Walker had to be Mrs. Gabriel Walker, and her husband was the dead body that they found years ago. “I didn't know you were involved in this, too.”

“Oh, you don't want to know how much,” Veronica muttered. “Don't think this makes up for it, though... thank you. Hopefully they'll have an ambulance here in time.”

“No hospitals,” Jay said, closing his eyes again.

“You know you need one, idiot,” Enid told him. “And if that jerk over there gets one, so do you. You get to live. He... well, he can rot here for all any of us cares, but you get to be the hero.”

“Anti-hero, and no,” Jay said, making her want to hit him. She would have if she had a quaggan to do it with. Speaking of...

“I expect another quaggan for this.”

“You... so mercenary.”

“Damn right, but you love me, so you'll do it anyway. I think I want a pirate this time.”

“Hmm... And here... almost gave you... car... but qaggan... it is. I'll keep... the Porsche.”

“What?”

“Eberhard decided to bait your brother with a real 1955 Porsche Spyder like the one James Dean drove and died in,” Veronica said, and it looked like she was fighting a smile. “He's sure Eberhard rigged the contest so he'll win.”

“That thing is worth over three million dollars,” Walker said, frowning.

Enid glared at her brother. “I hate you.”

* * *

_“Are you sure you don't remember anything?”_

_JD shook his head. He hadn't ever meant to cross paths with the police. That wasn't the point of the job, and he shouldn't have taken it, but he had. He'd gotten himself into one hell of a mess, and he would be paying for this for a long time._

_“Not a thing?” the detective pressed, frustrated. “Your name. Where you came from. How you ended up bleeding out on the fucking Vegas sidewalk? Any of that ring a bell?”_

_“Detective,” the doctor chided from the other side of JD's bed. She folded her arms over her chest, clearly annoyed by his presence. “You are being unreasonable. With the amount of head trauma he sustained, a loss of memory is to be expected. It's not his fault, nor is it anything he can control. You may as well go. He's told you he doesn't remember, so it would seem your questions are pointless.”_

_“Lady, someone shot him. More than once. They carved up his back in some sick Satanic ritual, and you said yourself he probably took it up the ass,” the man went on. “You really expect me to believe he doesn't remember any of that?”_

_“All of what you just said, in your crass, insensitive way, is highly traumatic, so yes, I do expect you to believe that,” she said. “Your attitude is appalling, and you should be fired for talking to anyone like that, no matter what you think of how he got his injuries. Leave, now, or I will have you escorted from the building.”_

_The detective grumbled to himself, calling her a bunch of unflattering names as he walked away. She shook her head._

_“Unbelievable.”_

_“Not particularly,” JD muttered, thinking of Ram Sweeney and Kurt Kelly. He leaned back and closed his eyes, enjoying the morphine in his IV way more than he should. In all fairness, the hospital should have been told that he was an addict, but that would mean admitting that he'd lied about his memory._

_And judging from that asshole of a cop, there was no way they'd understand what he'd done or believe him about Eberhard's house of horrors. With as many holes as there were in his memories, he may as well have amnesia. He couldn't explain this mess, and even if he did... they'd all think he was a part of the damned thing._

_Plus, there was that nagging pesky fact that said he was supposed to be dead. That would cause him no end of problems._

_“How are you feeling?”_

_“That a trick question?” he asked. “Like shit, so go ahead and increase those happy pills, okay?”_

_The doctor gave him a sad sort of smile, putting her hand on his arm. “I would, if I thought you needed it for the pain. Since I'm rather sure you don't, I'm going to leave it where it is now. You try and get some rest.”_

_He grunted. “Yeah, right.”_

_“That man is an idiot,” she said. “Whatever happened, you didn't deserve it, and this isn't your fault.”_

_“You don't know that,” JD told her. “For all you know, I'm a killer. I might have deserved those bullets and a lot more.”_

_“You know the interesting thing about amnesia?” she asked, smiling at him when he didn't answer. “It strips a person down to their barest self, a self they don't even know they are. And when they look at themselves... they can pick one of two ways to go—back to the person they were before or into the new person they want to become, the one losing their memory showed them they could be.”_

_“I'm not a good person.”_

_“You can't be sure of that,” she told him. “And even if you weren't, there's still time for you to change.”_

* * *

“I'd make a crack about sleeping beauty, but your sister will take it the wrong way,” Veronica said, and JD groaned. He wasn't awake enough to know that Enid wasn't in the room—she'd gone for a coffee run a few minutes ago, desperate to prove she wasn't hurt at all, which was a lie.

The two of them seemed to think that if they denied the trauma, it didn't exist at all, which might work for getting them through the next few minutes, but it broke them in the long term, as JD was proof. She had to wonder if he would have been as bad if he'd tried to face some of this stuff from Vegas before now.

He'd certainly feel less guilty about Eberhard being free for as long as he had been if he had.

“Smells like hospital.”

“Yes.”

“Why... the fuck... don't... you people... listen? Can't... hospital.”

Veronica put a hand on his face, leaning close to him. “Calm down. As far as they know, none of us knows who you are. Mrs. Walker hired Enid and me to look into Eberhard's connection to the death of her husband and others, hoping to end the blackmail he was using against her. Everyone assumes you were someone he kidnapped, since the guard I shot insists he doesn't know you, either. Eberhard has been trying to say otherwise, but not many people are listening. I think his defense attorney is the only one, to be honest, and that's only because he's paying him.”

“Senator.”

“Doesn't count for much when he's got an FBI agent, a hacker, a senator's daughter, and his own goon contradicting him. No one else touched the gun he used to kill those guards. Some of the bodies they found were too old—in the sense of how long they'd been in the ground—to have been killed by any of us or the guards.”

“Damn.”

“And Enid says she can make every trace of you in this hospital disappear.”

He frowned. “Case?”

“Still pretty strong even if you never take the stand, and none of us really plans on that. Not only are you very, very likely to disappear, but your guess about him being terminal was right. He probably won't make it that long, but he'll have a miserable time until he does die.”

“Almost worth it.”

She shook her head. She wasn't sure that anything that almost got him killed was worth it, even if she knew that he had to do this. They all had. Eberhard had to be stopped, even if he was dying, and JD needed to be the one who did it, since he had all that guilt from not doing it before—even if he'd done everything he could at the time and had good reason to believe Eberhard was dead and leave without ever risking coming back—and the shame of everything Eberhard and the others had done to him. He had to do this to reclaim some part of what he'd lost to them.

“I'm still mad at you for going off on your own.”

“Not... my fault... got jumped...”

“Sure you did.”

“Not proud... of it... just proud... managed to use... to advantage...” He gave her a loopy smile. “Never seem to learn... about headboards...”

“Well, they work sometimes,” Veronica reminded him, since they'd kept him in place before. 

He rolled his eyes and tried to turn over before stopping himself. “Fuck. IV?”

She grimaced. “Yes.”

“Not again,” he swore again, reaching over to pull on it. She caught his hand to stop him. He looked at her, miserable. “You have... any idea how hard... is to get off... that stuff again?”

She nodded. “Yes, but you're not alone, and you technically don't know you're addict.”

“Amnesia? Again? Lame.”

“You really want to explain to the police and everyone else why you have no name, no id and ended up with Eberhard?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Then you don't remember. For now. We can fix that later,” Veronica told him. She didn't want him to have to pretend forever, but it wasn't like they had a better excuse right now, and while they could probably create one, this one did in an emergency where they'd had to come up with something quickly. “And it also helps make Eberhard look that much more crazy, as he does keep saying you're Jason Dean, who is dead by all accounts but his.”

JD almost smiled. “That I like.”

“I thought you would.”

He looked at her, a slow, devious smile taking over his face. “You know, you are way too friendly... for an FBI agent... who happened to find me... in some hellhole... being tortured. Supposedly. You act... a lot... like maybe you like me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don't be an idiot.”

“Can't help it. It's the drugs.”

“Asshole.”

He grinned. “You know what else... gonna be great... this idea of yours... give me amnesia?”

She didn't want to know, honestly. “It was a quick fix. You were bleeding out and needed surgery. We didn't have a lot of choice.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” he said. “Meanwhile, I'm going to tell everyone in this hospital... I woke up to the sight of a beautiful angel... a creature so lovely... and ethereal and transcendent... I fell instantly in love... despite not having a memory... I must make this woman see we belong together.”

She balled her fists. “I'm going to kill you.”

He shook his head. “Nope. You're going to marry me.”

“I'm finding your doctor and signing you out of here before you can do any damage,” she said, glaring at him. “And this isn't over and doesn't mean you've won.”

“Oh, I did. And she... will be sorry... she missed it, but... she'll approve of my methods.”

“You are not fucking telling her.”

“Maybe not,” he agreed, and then held up the remote for the bed with its speaker and big red button to call for help, “but I _did_ just tell the nurse.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of clean up to do, plans to make, and Enid's wayward mother to find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd forgotten how much I love looking at funny t-shirts. I did that with an original fiction story, they bond over funny shirts and wear them all through it, it was fun to write. So was the one with funny socks.
> 
> Anyway... this is [Enid's shirt](https://www.snorgtees.com/the-wi-fi-is-down), and JD's is [this one](https://www.snorgtees.com/t-shirts/i-m-your-density).

* * *

“I thought you were on leave, Hanson.”

Veronica shrugged. “What can I say? I'm a workaholic, and suburbia is boring as hell. If I'd stayed much longer, I'd have killed my mother, I swear.”

Philips laughed. “Well, I suppose we all have those moments, don't we? Still, I was not expecting to have to come down here and sort out a jurisdiction mess and a lot of bad blood for you. Couldn't you at least have given me a heads up?”

She grimaced. “Not really. All I had to go on was stuff I couldn't prove or couldn't use legally, and I didn't know it was going to explode the way it did. I'm still not sure how it got so crazy so fast, but I'm starting to think that's just Enid.”

“Screw you. No quaggans for you, and you owe me coffee,” Enid said, passing from her bedroom into the kitchen, wearing what looked to be a set of pajamas meant to make her look like Chewbacca, one quaggan under each arm. Philips stared at her, mouth opening just a little.

It was a shame he wasn't younger and single. Veronica would have pushed that, get a little of her own back, but she knew Philips was devoted to his significant other. They were so in love it was disgusting, truth be told.

“I'm not kidding,” Enid said. “We're seriously out of coffee, and the universe is ending.”

Veronica sighed. “We'll go get some after I'm done getting lectured, okay? And please tell me that is not what you're wearing for the day.”

“I considered being an Ewok.”

Veronica put a hand to her head. “You realize you're only supposed to take half the pill, right? Not the full dose, and not more than one a day.”

“Whoever made up those dumbass rules has never been cut up right near their spine. Everything I do hurts, including breathe. If I could do it over, I'd jump that bed and kick his ass and then stab him with the knife after he'd been mostly dead—not the kind that can be rezzed by Miracle Max—and made sure he really suffered.”

“You hate blood,” Veronica reminded her, aware of Philips continue to gape at Enid in disbelief. “And she rambles like crazy when she's in pain or one of her 'won the internet' highs.”

“I am a very good hacker.”

“I'm sure you are,” Philips told her, still not sure how to react to her.

“I think very tired hacker types should be in bed,” JD said, grimacing as he dragged himself over to herd his sister toward the other room. “Also, you talk too loud and why was there something pink and fuzzy in my face when I woke up?”

Enid grinned at him. “Incentive. I'm going to make good on your threat to marry her.”

“With a pink fuzzy thing?”

“It's a quaggan, and yes. It has special powers.”

“And I thought I had the good painkillers,” he said, shaking his head at her as he guided her back to her bedroom.

“Bit of a madhouse around here,” Philips said, staring at the now empty hallway. Veronica almost told him he had no idea because Enid's mother was still MIA, and that reunion would be ugly one way or another. “You took in the amnesiac?”

“Enid insisted. He saved her life, so she thinks she owes him, and this is actually her house,” Veronica said, wishing both of them had stayed in the other room while she was doing this. “Realistically, how much trouble am I in?”

“Not as much as some people would like. Things are still a bit... tense around the office. A lot of people aren't happy with the way it went down—and others are blaming you for what Richards did, even if you weren't the only one blindsided by this. I mean, I thought sometimes he looked at you a little... too fondly, but did I think he was a psycho who'd stalked you for years and was psychologically torturing you? No.”

“Honestly, if I'd ever thought he'd had a real interest in me, I'd have transferred and possibly reported him for harassment. He always seemed to act just like a boss would, maybe even a bit of a father figure, which now is extremely creepy,” Veronica said, wishing she had the good drugs about now. “So I'm cleared in the shooting and everything else?”

Philips nodded. “The guard admits to firing first, and he also testified the senator had the girl, so things are pretty clear there. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the senator claiming this guy is your dead ex-boyfriend who was one of those damned Westerburg suicides.”

Veronica shook her head. “All I can figure is that the syphilis must be at the point where it's affecting his brain. He was involved with JD's father, from what Walker told us, and he told Enid he'd been watching her since she was a child, even knew about what Bud Dean did to her mother—and did nothing about it—and then when his brain started going... He decided JD was alive, and he had to get to him—”

“And some random guy probably on vacation in Vegas ends up kidnapped by this sicko because of a passing resemblance to the dead kid, right? Don't lie, Hanson. There's enough of a similarity where you spotted it, isn't there?”

More than Philips knew. “Yes, but that doesn't mean—”

“I'm not going to waste the bureau's resources trying to prove he's a dead guy. That's a waste of everyone's time and resources, and we're going to be stretched thin enough as they try and make sense of this thing. We've got a lot of bodies to identify, and there's going to be backlash.”

“Because he got away with this before.”

“Yes. And because he killed a bunch of kids over the years. So many it makes me sick to think about. We've dealt with plenty of twisted fucks in our time, but this one not only preyed on kids, he ran a fucking casino and became a senator. What is wrong with the world that this is even possible?”

“Everything?” Veronica suggested, and Philips gave a bitter laugh.

He leaned back in his chair. “I think a lot of people at the bureau would not be sorry to see you go—I'm not one of them—but this proves you can still do a hell of a job even when you're not with us.”

“You're so very diplomatic.”

“All I'm saying is you could go private, let a bit of the dust settle, and still be useful, if that's what your workaholic side needs.”

“I've been giving it some real thought,” Veronica said. She didn't know that she could go back to being an agent, though she'd always be asking Enid for clandestine, illegal help now, as bad as it was. Enid's skill with a computer was way too good to leave untapped as a resource.

“Okay. Well, I'm going to head back to the hotel, get some sleep, and go back to liaising with the locals, doing damage control. Don't lose our witnesses.”

“Nice working with you, too, Philips.”

He gave her a thin smile and rose, leaving the house.

* * *

“Is the suit gone?”

Veronica looked over at her, and Enid gave her a smile, pleased when her reaction was almost as good as the Chewie pajamas got her earlier. “Uh...”

“Something wrong?”

“Is that dinosaur really supposed to be panicking because the wifi is down?”

“Such a thing is the end of the world and the equivalent to the volcano that killed the dinosaurs.”

“Chaos killed the dinosaurs,” Jay corrected as he came back into the room, and Enid clapped her hands together with glee to see that scheme had also worked. She had figured it had to, seeing as that was the only shirt she'd left him to put on, but he could have been stubborn and refused to wear it at all, which would have been a shame.

“I am your density?” Veronica asked, reading it off to him, and Enid burst out laughing as he smirked, not caring how much it hurt. Oh, that was too good.

“Yes, apparently you are,” he told her, and she looked like she'd like to kill Enid then. “It would seem we are in need of a trip to the store, coffee, and the location of Enid's wayward mother. I think we can do it coffee first, but as Enid has apparently taken all of my clothes hostage—”

“Like you weren't very close to pulling the asshole move and leaving already even though you should still be in the hospital,” Enid said, folding her arms over her chest in annoyance.

“Hello, I am a dead man who stabbed a senator and only narrowly escaped arrest because they can't prove I'm lying about the amnesia. Don't forget that the heat is also on both of you right now with Ronnie's fed friends, and the more they see me, the more they recognize me and make any future collaboration impossible. Mr. Amnesia should already have departed for places unknown.”

“Or,” Enid began because she'd been giving this some thought in between rping with her quaggans (they were so in denial right now, but they'd get over it soon enough) and sleeping, “you could continue to have a convenient memory loss and use that as the reason why you stick so close to us because we're all you know. You fell for Veronica because she rescued you, and you get married and go into business together, finding you have a natural talent for getting in the heads of psychos, probably because of Eberhard, but we'll never know.”

“Oh, God,” Veronica said, staring at her.

“It's not crazy. It's a very good plan. Tell her, Jay.”

“I think the reason she's afraid is because she can't deny parts of it are very good, much as she's not going to agree to all of it. You do have a point in which this explains not only why I don't have a past but also why I'd be connected to you. You could call me your brother because you 'adopted' me as that, and then I could do at least the business angle.”

Enid grinned. “Really?”

“Well, it's a way of sticking around without having to testify or making them think there's something shady with amnesia guy,” he said, clearly not thrilled about it. “The alternative being—”

“You leave and never come back which is _not_ an option,” Veronica said, and Enid nodded. She was not losing her brother. She refused. And whether he admitted it or not, he needed them. Sure, he got his revenge against Eberhard, but at what cost?

“So we're agreed, then,” Enid said. “We're going to get coffee.”

“And clothes.”

“Jay—”

He shook his head. “I think the only person who should see this shirt has already gotten the message, okay? I want my own clothes.”

* * *

“You really think that your mom is in a casino?” Veronica asked, looking around the pit with disgust. JD would have to find out just what happened to her on that trip to Vegas. She didn't seem to like this place much more than he did.

He wasn't sure what it was about Vegas that made him slant toward the expensive suits, but they were kind of an odd mix, with Veronica in her former fibbie frumpy, Enid in her geek chic, and him in a three piece suit that put most here to shame.

“Two things everyone should know about my mother,” Enid said. “One, she drinks. Two, she dealt blackjack. Casinos are a part of her in some, sick twisted way, which kind of means she won't be that likely to go east where my aunts and uncles—”

“Atlantic City,” JD interrupted, and Enid's eyes widened. She seemed to like that idea, but it was very brilliant, so that was to be expected.

“We still have to find her first,” Enid said. “And while it makes sense that her creepo boyfriend works somewhere in this casino because it's Eberhard's—holy fuck, is that the car you think you won?”

JD turned to look back at the Spyder and nodded. He was sure he'd won the contest. Eberhard wanted him to, and so it would have happened. “Yes, but it would be very difficult to claim seeing as I'm a dead man with amnesia.”

“Not necessarily,” Enid said. “Remember, you have me, and just because you're dead doesn't mean that the alias Eberhard used is. He might have backstopped it for you, or I can. Just because you maybe have a name does not mean that you have a memory. We can come up with a convincing one for Veronica's friends.”

“That's cheating.”

Enid looked over at Veronica. “Eberhard abducted us and tortured us. You think someone else, some random gambler, deserves this car more? I know it's a taunt and all, Jay, but this is so meant for you and you should have it.”

That was a hard point to argue, and Veronica didn't seem to want to, so she just shook her head. “It only has two seats.”

JD laughed, amused by Veronica's attempt to dissuade Enid. He didn't think it would be very successful, as she was now convinced that was their car, and when Enid got something stuck in her head, it stayed that way.

“It's ours,” Enid insisted. “I'm going to make sure of it.”

“The wifi really will go down if you try,” Veronica warned her, and Enid gave her the finger. This was about to get ugly, and he didn't know that he wanted to see it.

“I think we need to use your computer skills for other ways,” JD told her. “We need to find the loser boyfriend and where they're shacked up, since she wasn't in the bar when we walked in. She's not here drooling over the car like her daughter.”

“Me likey car,” Enid said. “Stop being a big meanie and help us get it.”

JD rolled his eyes. He knew Eberhard had intended it for him, but it had gone through a public contest Eberhard was no longer able to rig, and even if he was, they still would have problems getting it in JD's non-existent name.

“Excuse me, sir?”

JD looked around, afraid he was going to be asked to take his friends and leave when he found himself facing the kid from the other night.

“It is you,” the other man said. He reached into his suit and took an envelope out of his pocket. “I was given instructions to give this to you.”

“No,” Veronica said, reaching to stop him from taking it, but JD did it anyway. He'd always wonder what the damned thing said if he didn't look at it, and that wondeirng could be worse than what the bastard had actually written.

He tore open the envelope, his side throbbing as he did. 

_Dearest Jason,_

_It has been such a long time, hasn't it? I assume you know why you're here, now that you've gotten the message. I wanted you to know who was bringing you back where you belong and who you belong to. I suppose you wouldn't know that before our falling out your father had another will, one that left your custody to me instead of Woods._

_Yes, you understand now, don't you? You were meant to be mine._

_And while it's hardly a true indication of my affection for you, this gift is a start toward making up for such a long absence from each other. You'll find that the casino has a replica, and it will be a scandal, I'm sure, but I want you to have the real one._

_Of course, you must come to me to get it._

_And I know you will._

JD crumpled up the note in his fist. “Is that all of it?”

The other man nodded. “I didn't... he didn't seem like what they're saying on the news. I... I just... I had to give it to you if I saw you. I'm sorry.”

He hurried off, ducking into the crowd. JD shook his head, not sure how to feel at the moment. God, that bastard had just... gone and won all over again. If he'd gotten this instead of finding Enid for himself...

“Jay?”

“Somewhere there's a real 1955 Spyder, but this one isn't it,” JD said. “Or so he claims. He also claims that if Woods didn't get me, he was supposed to.”

“Damn it.”

“He's locked up in the looney bin now,” Enid said. “He can't get you—can't get either of us. You're safe. Remember, Veronica has a gun. It's a very nice gun, and she seems to like shooting people, so you can have her defend you.”

“Enid, you are so not helping—”

“It's okay,” she said, rubbing his back and trying to calm him, when he was not so much upset as weirdly numb but not at the same time. He might puke. He might be feverish and likely to pull his stitches. He did not feel good. “I'm here. Veronica's here. You're not alone. We won't let anything bad happen to you.”

“What the fuck am I, five?”

“No, but you have a lot of trauma, and sometimes keeping it simpler is easier, being direct and telling you what we think you need to hear versus what we'd say if you weren't close to a panic attack because of him, and you know, it's not like there's an easy guide, all the rules of do or don't, this is what you say or don't say. We just do our best here,” Veronica said, touching his cheek. “You might be a bit better at this than us, you know. Something about your way of having those strangely deep insights or the way you say something completely inappropriate and distracting.”

“Hmm,” he said. “You mean maybe like I could kiss you right now?”

“Something like that,” Veronica agreed, and he was a bit confused, because she didn't pull away, and that seemed almost like an invitation.

“Oh, God, please tell me that is not what you got married in.”

“Heather?”


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding Enid's mother gets complicated by the arrival of Veronica's friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was always planning on having the others show up in Vegas, really, but it didn't quite work as planned, and I don't even know what to think of the conversation with Enid's mother.
> 
> I am so conflicted right now.

* * *

“Oh, God, please tell me that is not what you got married in,” a familiar voice said, and Veronica turned, trying to understand why she was hearing it, now, here, of all places. She'd been so focused on trying to repair the latest damage Eberhard had done with that damned note of his she hadn't seen anyone else, but that was going to bite them in the ass.

“Heather?” Veronica asked, begging her eyes to be wrong about this. She could not be seeing Heather Duke, champion wedding planner and former megabitch, standing in front of her in a random casino. In Vegas. While she was next to JD, who was supposed to be dead.

“Yes,” Duke said, arms folded over her chest. “I thought we agreed I was planning your wedding for you. I owe you for saving my daughter, and you came here to do a cheap, tawdry thing with Elvis and didn't even bother to wear something that fit properly. Look at you. You're so... frumpy it's like a grandmother slept in her clothes for a week and then rolled over to do it all again.”

Enid snorted.

Duke eyed her shirt and sighed. “And you ought to have some better sense than that.”

“I am not ashamed of my geeky nature, nor was I actually attending any weddings today or I would have made a little effort and put on a dress or something,” Enid muttered, a bit defensive. “Though knowing my luck, I'll end up being told I'm 'cute' the entire time.”

Veronica figured JD might want that, since she had a feeling if Enid actually did date anyone, he'd have a hard time with it, but that was so not the point right now. “Heather, what are you doing here?”

“I came to make sure you weren't making a huge mistake,” Heather said. “Vegas weddings are a running joke for a reason, and you are so not getting one of those.”

“I am not getting married.”

“Not today, anyway,” Enid said, ever so helpful. “Right now, we're actually trying to find my mom, as I suspect she's here somewhere with the boyfriend who got her drinking again, and it's kind of a mess, but no, they're not married yet, so breathe easy.”

“Thank goodness,” Duke muttered. “That means there's still time to do this properly. Betty said she'd bring your dress with her, and Heather tried to bring her kids—God knows why—and you should have seen how heartbroken Martha was about the idea of you doing this without us.”

Veronica turned to Enid. “I am going to kill you.”

Enid just smirked in response. “I regret nothing.”

“Oh, I think you regret that time at Comic Con,” JD said, and Enid's eyes widened, staring at him with her mouth open. She tried to shut it, opened it up again to say something, and then stopped.

“I'm sure we don't want to know,” Duke said. “The good news is that since I am here, we can now fix this mess and get the wedding done properly. I have enough connections here to make it very possible.”

“Fuck, no,” JD said. “I am not getting married here. I hate Vegas. Now if you will excuse me, I think I've figured out where to find Enid's wayward mother.”

He pushed Veronica forward as he started walking through the crowd, almost knocking her into Duke. She righted herself, about to go after him when Duke took her arm.

“Enid's mother? Not his?”

“So he's my half-brother,” Enid said, shrugging. “We have different mothers, same father. Does that even matter? He's still my brother.”

Duke nodded. “Yes... It's just... he seems a bit... familiar.”

“What can I say?” Enid began, grinning wide enough to make Veronica contemplate murder again. “Veronica has a type.”

* * *

JD's side was making him regret this idea of going out and about, and he was also thinking he should have taken the good pills, addict or not. He hurt, and it was hard to think like this. He'd been thrown off by that damned letter, and he'd barely recovered before Duke's sudden appearance.

He knew he wasn't exactly the same as he'd been when he was seventeen, but he knew he still looked like his old self. Eberhard had been proof enough of that. If Duke did recognize him... well, that was trouble, wasn't it?

He wasn't sure what to do about that, and he'd chosen distance over anything else, needing to lesson any thoughts of resemblance or anything else that might make Duke think he was who she probably thought he was.

Then again, maybe she didn't remember those clandestine meetings over photographs and blackmail. Maybe he was overestimating his own importance. Eberhard might never have forgotten him, but that guy was screwed up in the head.

So was Bud.

And they were both control freaks.

Who'd argued. Over JD.

Yeah, he could believe they had a bit of a falling out, though somehow they'd managed to stay business partners even if they disagreed about the way JD should be used.

He grimaced at his own word choice and shook his head, forcing himself onward. He was not about to quit now, not when he knew he could get Enid's mother back to her, and besides, she probably needed a bit more tough love in a way that Enid wouldn't—couldn't—give it.

Not that it was all Maisie's doing, no, but that didn't make it much better.

He walked over to the end of the balcony, finding the woman and her bottle looking down at the crowd, hidden from most people's view by the decorations and plants around her. Like daughter, like mother, he thought and almost smiled as he walked over to rest against the railing.

“You know, she's down there, looking for you and worried sick,” he said. “Also, you should know that while you were gone, she was kidnapped and very nearly tortured, so you might try looking past your own problems for a bit.”

Maisie stared at him. “The hell—did you do that?”

“No, an enemy of Bud Dean's did. He couldn't get at her father, that bastard's well and good and dead, but he knew about her, and he figured he'd hurt her instead.”

Maisie shook her head. “He never... I never... after he... I never saw him again. He doesn't know I had a kid.”

“No, but a party very interested in casino management who had a business arrangement with him knew about you and when you ended up pregnant, he put two and two together and made eight,” JD said, watching her frown at him. “Your daughter was blackmail material, proof of what Bud did, and she was never going away. He had to keep access to her, so he offered you a job at a new casino, not the one where you'd been working when you met said rapist, and kept watch over you and her for years. He had leverage, he had access, and he was a long-term planner in addition to being fucking sick. He manipulated both of you.”

She frowned. “You mean more than just the job, don't you?”

“Where's the guy you've been seeing?”

She winced. “Should have known. All men are scum.”

“Not true. Your father wasn't, none of your brothers were, and there are other decent ones out there,” JD said, since he figured the other girls had found at least a few, though he doubted Duke married for love. She had her company and her kids and that was what mattered to her.

“And you?”

“So far it seems I care more about Enid than you do, so... take that for what it is,” he told her. “Now, we can, if you'd like, arrange for some suitable payback for your current jerk du jour, but I think you should see your daughter first.”

Maisie bit her lip. “You really think I should go out of her life, don't you?”

“Sometimes that's the best form of love you can give, and you can't do much for Enid when you're a mess yourself,” he said. “Pick yourself up, surround yourself with people who actually care, like your family, instead of assholes who seem to but are messing with your head, and stay sober this time. Enid still loves you, but you're doing nothing but hurt right now.”

“It's not that simple. I've tried quitting before. I did... and then...”

“It happens to every addict.”

She rolled her eyes. “You say that like the others. Judging.”

“I know how hard it is to stay sober,” he disagreed. “I even like to think alcohol isn't like my drug of choice, but you know... it's all about the same in the end.”

“So you, Mr. Rich Finery, you think you know about addiction. One spoiled kid who did too much thinking he had nothing but money to burn. That's not what this is,” she said, defensive, and he wished she wouldn't, since it made it damned hard to like her. “One night... it was one night, but it takes over my whole life. I can be doing something unrelated and then it's all back like I'm there again. Do you have any idea how hard it is to live with?”

“Yes,” he admitted, watching her stare at him. “And if you want to trade horror stories, I'm pretty sure I have you beat. Sure, I didn't get knocked up, so I can't say I know what that was like, but I know other things you don't want to hear about and I'm not discussing. All you need to know is that Enid was the best thing that ever happened to you, despite how she got here, and that's worth fighting against the rest of it, isn't it?”

Maisie nodded. “Yes.”

“Then we will go find her, and you will take her up on that offer. Sell your house because Vegas is bad for this family, and no one should come back here. Reunite with your siblings. Get the support you need. And maybe even let them try a blind date or two on you. That might just get you a decent guy for a change.”

She made a face. “That better not be a psychic prediction.”

“No, but I'll laugh my ass off if I'm right.”

* * *

“Oh, Veronica,” Heather McNamara said, hugging her close. “It's so good to see you. I know we just saw you, but you left without a word, and it was a bit scary, and Heather was so worried that you were here eloping, and she just wouldn't stand for that, so we talked it over and decided to come down and make sure you didn't get married without us, and it's so great, isn't it?”

Veronica tried to smile and couldn't. Someone was really going to die for this. She wasn't sure if it was Enid or JD—or both—though probably Enid because JD hadn't actually been there for that lie.

“I didn't come down here to elope,” Veronica said, pulling out of the hug and giving Enid a very pointed glare. “I came down here to help a friend, and I got stabbed in the back for it.”

“Technically, I got stabbed in the back,” Enid corrected, giving her a smirk. Then she stopped. “Wait, why am I smiling about that? I did get stabbed in the back. That was not okay.”

“You got stabbed?” Betty asked, worried. “What were you doing, Veronica?”

“We caught a serial killer,” Enid said proudly. “It was not so cool in the middle of it, when I got stabbed and stuff, but we did stop a complete psycho and end a killing spree older than all of us.”

“Seriously?” Duke asked, shuddering despite herself. “That's so wrong.”

“I'm glad you're around to help stop them, though,” Martha said. “God, what a monster. How could anyone go that long without getting caught?”

“That is a very, very long story,” Enid said, and Veronica gave her another warning look. They didn't have all the details of that perfected yet, and they couldn't go telling them about JD's part in it, not when the FBI and everyone else thought he had amnesia. All of her friends here would know that he didn't—or that he shouldn't be a John Doe to the feds—since he remembered her and Enid and was still “engaged.”

“You know you have to tell us,” McNamara said. “We'll start with that, and since we'll all drink through it, it can turn into your bachelorette party because we'll all be wasted by the end of it.”

“Oh, hell, no,” Veronica said, and everyone stared at her. She felt herself get a bit red as they watched her, trying to find a way to explain that.

“Veronica had a very bad experience when it came to bachelorette parties in Vegas with her last wedding,” JD said, sneaking up behind her and wrapping his arms around her. “She's not about to repeat that mistake.”

Veronica tensed. “Um...”

“My side is killing me,” he whispered in her ear. “I think I might fall down if I can't hold onto something.”

“Likely story,” she grumbled, trying to tell herself she didn't like it at all.

“On the bright side, I found Maisie, we had a wonderful little chat, and once she gets done puking, we can take her home to finish sobering up.”

“What about the asshole?” Enid asked. “We are doing something to him, aren't we?”

“Asshole?” Duke asked. “Who are we talking about? An ex? Is Hanson here?”

“No, my mom got involved with a real prize who screwed with her head and made her fall very hard off the wagon,” Enid said. “Tell me we have a horribly devious plan for him, Jay.”

“Only the best for you, baby sis.”

She grinned. “I love you, you know that, right?”

“Hmm,” he said, nuzzling Veronica's neck with his words. “She's still on the good drugs, isn't she, Ronnie?”

“Yes,” she answered, trying to ignore what he was doing to her. He was warm, and she'd forgotten how nice it could be to be held like this. It had been so damned long, since before Hanson, probably, if she was honest. That man had never been particularly demonstrative, and sometimes she wondered why he'd ever bothered proposing to her.

Probably a political thing. He'd figured on needing a wife for some role he wanted—partner at his firm, maybe, or judge. She'd been a means to an end, and she'd let herself be used, all for the sake of safety, which was pretty fucking pathetic now that she could admit it.

“You need to let me go,” she said, not sure she could handle much more of this, even if her natural impulse to elbow him would go very wrong right now with that wound in his side.

“Nope. Not for a second.”

She wanted to remind him that he was the one that said that he should keep his distance from her, that he was obsessed, that this was dangerous for both of them.

“What do you think you're doing?”

“Starting to wonder if some things are just... inevitable,” he told her. “That no matter how much we fight it or know better, that pull just keeps dragging us in and won't let us go and it's going to happen eventually... so we can either admit that now while we can still enjoy it or keep fighting it until there's not enough of us left to actually appreciate it.”

“That some messed up way of saying you want to have sex before you can't get it up?”

“If you want to be crass about it. I was leaning more toward it shouldn't take one of us dying for us to admit to what's still lingering under the surface.”

She closed her eyes. “This is such a bad idea.”

“Yes, it is, and I know all the reasons why it is. I'd like to blame it on the medication, but I didn't actually take any.”

She sighed. “This is still just a product of the circumstances. This place. That man. Close quarters. Your sister's interference.”

“All factors. Not denying them,” he agreed, being too calm and reasonable now. “I did have the thought that you could have half my assets if I die. The other half goes to Enid, but you know... that's not too bad an inheritance. Might be worth it.”

“Oh, so now I do it for the money?”

“If I tried to claim you were madly in love with me, you'd deny it.”

She laughed. She couldn't help it. “That was pretty good, actually.”

“I've got better.”

“Oh, do you now? And what could you possibly offer that's better?”

“Besides the lifetime of fantastic sex?” he teased, laughing next to her ear before dropping his voice to a whisper only she could hear. “If you went through with a little ceremony now, you'd never have to explain that the whole thing was fake, they'd stop bugging you about planning it, and Enid would lose the ability to torment you with the idea of a wedding.”

Damn him, that was actually tempting.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few things are settled. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was stuck and sick and thinking I'd ruined this story for good. It was not a good feeling. I managed to pinpoint why I didn't like what I'd done, and while I know not everyone will be happy with this particular ending, I think it fits because anything else is rushing too much with all the underlying issues.

* * *

“Wow,” Martha said, watching Jay and Veronica as he rocked her in his arms and they kept bantering on and on. “Talk about being in their own little world. Are they always like this?”

“If they were, why didn't she go all stupid every time he texted or something?” Duke asked, always suspicious. Enid thought that she'd picked the wrong empire, seeing as wedding planning should be a bit more romantic, right?

“That would be because my brother doesn't text,” Enid said. They all stared at her. She shrugged. “Just because I'm a geek doesn't mean he feels the same about technology. It's too Big Brother for him, and he refuses to let himself be tracked by his phone.”

“He's weird.”

“Just because your life revolves around your phone and your business does not mean it's like that for everyone else,” Martha told Duke. “Some of us like to have some privacy in our lives from time to time. It's not a bad thing.”

“I think they are absolutely adorable together,” McNamara said. “And for someone with a type... I think Heather would say she's improved in it, if only because this one dresses nicer.”

Enid chose not to comment on that, since she'd seen Jay wear whatever he felt his “role” of the moment required. He was not the sort to let fashion stop him from getting where he needed to go, though for some reason, he liked three piece suits all of a sudden, which she found weird, but given all her brother had been through, she wasn't really sure it was worth questioning.

And while she'd never been attracted to him, even before she was sure he was her brother, she had to admit he looked good in them. Not as good as her favorite animated crush, but that was neither here nor there.

“We are going to remind them they're not alone, right?”

Enid looked over at Betty and frowned. Why would she want to do that when those two were finally working out some of their issues? She wanted them to talk about this crap instead of denying it or backpedaling. Jay was talking like he might not run off on them as soon as he could, with all his bullshit about protecting them by staying far away—and Enid wasn't stupid, she knew very well that once the dust settled, his guilt over “dragging her into this” would hit him full force and he'd try to leave her again.

She knew him well enough to know that.

She knew it wasn't all that fair, using his yo-yo emotions to get him to do something he'd be avoiding if he wasn't fresh off another brush with a psycho who'd damaged him before, but she almost wished he would marry Veronica just so he'd have a tie he couldn't break as much as he thought he needed to—only that was stupid because he'd still leave if he was married to her, thinking it too much to risk.

“We don't have to,” Enid said. “There's a bar and games and we could throw our own party while they're out debating whether or not they'll do this.”

Duke turned to her. “Do you mean to tell me that they got engaged but neither of them actually wants to get married? How does that make any sense?”

“Well...” Enid began, trying to find a reasonable explanation for it. “Okay, so admittedly, their relationship is fucked up, but they don't know how to live without each other, and while both of them admit they don't think they're right for each other, they both circle back to each other every time and so they kind of had a moment before where they said, 'okay, can't fight it, let's get married.'”

“Very romantic,” Duke muttered, shaking her head at them.

“And then, very typical for both of them, they panicked and backed off from each other, and that leaves us where we are now, where they both want it but are scared of it and keep trying to talk themselves or the other out of it.”

“It's almost sweet,” McNamara said, frowning slightly. “If a little screwed up.”

“A lot screwed up,” Duke said, “though it explains a lot about how Veronica's been about this wedding.”

“Yeah,” the others agreed. 

Whatever Jay had said to Veronica last had finally dragged her out of the haze, and she blinked, frowning at all of them as she remembered they were there, something Enid suspected Jay had never forgotten.

“What are you looking at?”

Enid rolled her eyes. “You two either need a room or a damned wedding already. Or both.”

“I'm here,” Duke said. “I can so take care of that wedding.”

Veronica's mouth gaped open, and she struggled for a response.

“I don't think Ronnie wants a wedding here, and I don't, either, but perhaps she should try and have a better bachelorette party this time around,” Jay said. “You can all have a good time since you came down here anyway, and in the mean time, I think we've got our hands full.”

Enid saw her mother stumbling toward her, looking like she could puke for days, and she sighed. They did, didn't they?

* * *

“A bachelorette party is supposed to involve the bride,” Duke said, and Veronica sighed. She didn't want any part of this. She didn't like the idea of being drunk in Vegas, even if she had a feeling it wasn't as bad as she thought it was.

She'd have to talk to JD to confirm it, but given what she knew of him and how he'd watched over her, she thought she knew what had really gone down that time, and she was feeling a bit better—and worse—about it all at the same time.

“I know, but I don't feel like celebrating right now, and I'd rather go with them to see Enid's mom off at the airport,” Veronica said. She saw everyone watching her and sighed. “It's not that I don't want to spend time with you. I was doing that before this last crisis hit, remember? I just... need to do this for Enid.”

“No,” Martha disagreed. “This is about whatever happened when you had that 'bachelorette party' here that last time you got married. What went so wrong? Did you... were you...?”

“No,” Veronica said, since she'd been spared that, and maybe even a lot more than she knew thanks to her other personal stalker. “I just... got really drunk and hooked up with a man I don't even... It was dumb, and I don't want to do it again, okay? I don't even remember what he looked like, so... yeah. Not drinking in Vegas again.”

“Ouch,” McNamara said. “I mean, sometimes you think you want someone different, just a change, and maybe a last fling before getting married, but when you go a bit too far...”

“Yeah,” Veronica said, shaking her head at her younger self, wishing she could undo a lot of that old stupidity. Then again, a part of her didn't want that. She didn't want people dead, but she still wanted JD in her life, as messed up as that was.

“So, we're just supposed to let you leave, spend the night down here amongst ourselves, and go back to Ohio like nothing happened?” Duke asked, folding her arms over her chest.

“I didn't ask you to come down here,” Veronica reminded her. “And I don't—neither of us wants to be married in Vegas. Maybe we should want a good memory from this place, but I don't think I could go through with it here, even if you did make it as tasteful as possible, Heather.”

She still wasn't sure about marrying again at all, but she'd wavered a lot when JD presented some seemingly good reasons for them to just do it, including that it only had to be in name only if she wanted.

She didn't know what the hell she wanted, neither of them did. She was still messed up by having her boss turn out to be a psycho who'd been obsessed with her leading his son to kill innocent girls as revenge, and JD was dealing with all of this coming back to him, everything Eberhard and the others had done to him and their other victims. Now was not the time to think about marriage.

“We could at least have fun while we're here,” McNamara said. “I think we could all use some, and if this is how Veronica wants her bachelorette party, who are we to complain?”

Veronica gave her a weak smile. “Thanks, Heather. I should probably go. I need to meet them before they leave for the airport.”

“You're not actually going to marry him, are you?” Duke asked, and Martha smacked her for the question.

Veronica just sighed. She didn't have a good answer to that. It should have been a clear yes or no, that she wasn't, and she'd been insisting on it since he came back into her life, but she wasn't so sure now, and she hated herself for that.

“I have to go,” she repeated, leaving the room.

* * *

“Maybe I should fly with her,” Enid said, fretting as she paced the airport lobby. JD gave her a look, though if he wasn't as tired and sore as he was, he'd probably be pacing himself. He didn't like Vegas, and while the airport had nothing to do with why, he knew the kind of security a place like this had, and it left him feeling very exposed. “I can go see to it that she gets settled in properly.”

“Your mother needs to do this on her own,” JD told her, and she sighed. He could tell her how dysfunctional her relationship with her mother was, but he wouldn't. She already knew, in most senses, and she also didn't want to hear it. “You can't make her sobriety about you, or it will fail.”

“I know,” Enid sighed, frustrated. “I just... I worry about her, that's all.”

“She's an adult, and she has to fend for herself.”

“I know that, too,” Enid said. “Don't make me hit you.”

“Don't make me cancel that order for the quaggan,” he said, and she stared at him. He shrugged. Since most of them weren't official, he'd been able to ask the crafter for some additions to her usual ware, which she'd agreed to, since JD was paying for the extras and it would expand her business considerably if they were offered.

“I swear, you make me so mercenary.”

“Well, there are worse things, I suppose.”

She gave him a frown. “That doesn't sound right somehow.”

He grimaced, looking away from her. “Our family is screwed up, remember? There are a lot worse things I could think about or you would associate with me. Bud was no saint, we both know that, but that's the blood that ties us together, and if you think that doesn't scare me, you're dead wrong.”

She looked him over. “You know that despite our tendency toward... less than legal acts, he didn't pass on some 'evil' gene to us. We're not monsters because of him. You are not a monster in spite of him and all he did to you, all he let others do to you—”

“I think Heather Chandler, Ram Sweeney, and Kurt Kelly would disagree with you,” JD said, and Enid grimaced.

“Okay, that part was—I don't know. I have a hard time feeling sorry for Ram because I know the guy was a rapist, and I happen to feel strongly about what should happen to people like him, which I think you do, too.”

“I haven't forgotten about the man who hurt your mother. I just think we need to arrange it from a distance because they're already suspicious of me here, and I don't want them believing Eberhard and trying to prove what he says is true,” JD told her, not lying. He wanted to be out of Vegas when they had their revenge on this jerk, since if he knew it was them, the whole fragile lie would unravel and screw them over.

“What are you thinking?”

“Ideally, a sort of tit-for-tat, where he gets screwed over by someone he cares about, though I would think that would require hiring someone to fake being interested in him, and I don't like that much as it's too easy for them to get hurt or have it turn on them. You can do a lot of damage with your computer skills, though, and I'd bet he has someone else in his life, probably did the entire time he was with your mom.”

“Jerk.”

“But you can make these women aware of him and let them do the rest as they deserve some revenge of their own.”

Enid nodded. “That's a start.”

“And there's always causing him financial problems in very embarrassing ways,” JD went on, watching her smirk. She would take that and run with it, and he knew it would be more than this guy deserved, but then he should never have used Maisie the way he had.

“It still doesn't make up for him getting Mom to drown in a bottle.”

“He might do that himself if he's pushed hard enough, and that's what we want.”

“You know, that's twisted.”

“You asked, baby sis.”

Enid nodded. “So I did. And it looks like Mom's past security, so I guess it's time to go, isn't it?”

“Yeah. Let's get a slushie.”

* * *

“I think they're at the Mirage if you want to get plastered with them,” Veronica told Enid, and she gave her a look. “I know, you don't necessarily want to because you hate what your mom does so much, but then... sometimes the alcohol takes the edge off of stuff like this.”

“Saying goodbye, you mean?” Enid asked. “I'm fine.”

JD snorted. “She's not, but she's trying to believe she is. She's very codependent with her mother, and it's a bit hard for her right now.”

“Which is why you've both gone through more slushies than is normal for a healthy, sane person,” Veronica observed, almost amused. “It's not going to work, you know.”

JD shrugged. “One addiction for another. It helps, even if it doesn't erase the cause. And if you're going to be a pain about it, you can leave. God knows I want to. The morning won't come fast enough for me.”

“Especially not without alcohol,” Veronica observed, sitting down next to him. He looked over at her, and Enid rolled her eyes.

“Okay, I can see where this is heading,” Enid said as she rose, “and I so don't need to be a part of it. Just tell me you'll actually sort it out this time.”

“I just have one thing to ask, and then I'm going back to my own hotel until morning,” Veronica said, and Enid snorted as she headed back into her bedroom.

“I don't think she believes you.”

“Your sister seems to think we're going to get married and go at it like bunnies if given half a chance,” Veronica said, shaking her head. “Which is not why I came, even if I have been thinking about this whole... marriage thing.”

“Hard not to,” he agreed, watching her. “I know I said some stuff earlier and—”

“You are not recanting that to run off for 'our own good,' asshole,” Veronica told him. She refused to let him do that to them again. “Yeah, maybe you made sure that bastard could never hurt anyone again, but does that mean it's really over? No. You still have to live with what he did. You also have to remember it now, when you'd buried it deep before and managed to forget as much of it as you could.”

“That doesn't actually work.”

“I didn't think so,” she said, biting her lip. “Though I wonder if I managed it once.”

He turned to look at her. “Wait. What?”

“You knew about that Vegas trip. The one before I married Hanson. I got drunk enough to block most of that night out. Except I know I picked some random guy up in a bar, and I don't know who he was or anything, but... I know what we did.”

JD tensed. “Well, if you're telling me this because you think you need to confess past sexual encounters or something before the whole marriage thing—”

“Don't be stupid,” she told him, frustrated. “Though I am. I'm so fucking stupid. I wanted you to tell me you'd followed me that time. That I didn't find some random jerk and sleep with him when I was too far gone to know better. I wanted you to tell me it was you and that I'd blocked it out because... you were dead, and there was no way I could have actually slept with you, just dreamed it.”

“Is it actually better if it's me?” JD asked. “That would mean I used you and left you, wouldn't it?”

“Except you wouldn't have,” she said. “You'd have intervened, gotten me away from whatever jerk I'd found, and taken me back, but even as much as you might have wanted to, you wouldn't have let it go that far. And I'd be confused because of course I came onto you and that's all I can remember.”

He pulled her into his arms. “I love that you think that I'd be that good of a person.”

“You think if you had been there, you would have gone through with it?”

“I find you very hard to resist, much as I know better.”

“So that would be a problem if we agreed to a sham marriage to put everyone off.”

He reached over and touched her cheek. “I think that there's no way either of us could let it be a sham for long, though I suppose that's wishful thinking on my part. I'm afraid I never did get over you, even if what I felt was... warped. You... you were the first time it was what I wanted, and I did take that too far. I know I did.”

She leaned her head against his. “We are so damaged. Not in the same ways, but I... I don't know. I can't seem to let you go, either, when I know what I should do, what's sane and what isn't, and anyone on the outside would say this thing between us is toxic.”

“I don't know. I think it was, back then, when I was so screwed up I couldn't see straight and developed a god complex, but now? I'm aware of my flaws. I don't hide them. And I did change, and I didn't do it for you. You were part of why I changed, but you didn't do it for me, didn't fix me, and you didn't even know I was doing it. I did it knowing I'd never show you what I'd done. I know I'm still far from good and nowhere near perfect, but I am better than I was. Does that mean you should love me? No. It just means things are different now.”

She took his hand. “I said before I wanted you in my life. That part hasn't changed.”

“Only the marriage part confuses you.”

“Doesn't it confuse you?”

“Of course it does. I'm a mess, remember?” he asked, touching her hair and brushing it back from her face. “Every part of me is screaming that I should go, leave both of you in the night, but then I know there's this thing with Eberhard, and me leaving will mean the FBI will look for me, and it's not so easy to disappear nowadays. I don't like it, but I think I have to stay, at least for a while. Enid's idea of us all working together isn't horrible. I was doing good before, strange as that is to say or for you to hear. I didn't take in the people who wanted false hope—I took in people I could do something for, missing persons I could find, ghosts that weren't real but people were using to hurt others, that sort of thing... I liked it.”

“I know.”

“I figured it out,” Enid called from the other room. “We can use your amnesia to explain how you have your 'psychic' moments. Whatever trauma took your memories from you gave you the ability to find visions. Ooh, it's perfect.”

“Enid,” Veronica said, completely humiliated. “I thought the idea was to give us some privacy.”

“I did,” Enid said, poking her head out into the hallway, her headphones hanging around her neck. “But I had this great theory for how Jay could go back to what he was doing, and I had to share it.”

“Sure you did,” Veronica said, not sure she believed it due to the timing.

“Enid, if you don't butt out, no quaggan for you,” JD said, and she flipped him off before putting her headphones back on and going back into her room. He shook his head, sighing. “This is not easy.”

“I don't think it ever will be.”

“No, I don't think it will be.”

She gave his hand a squeeze. “We want to do it together from now on, right?”

“Yes.”

She smiled, curling up against him and deciding this was more than enough for now.


End file.
